


you're fire but sweet (and i lost it when you found me)

by knubtastick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action, Drama, F/F, Fluff, I needed to write about these two, danarya, mostly canon-compliant, this is my rewrite of s8, why'd they have to do dany dirty like that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knubtastick/pseuds/knubtastick
Summary: Daenerys finally makes it to Winterfell to deal with the real threat to the seven kingdoms, the Night King. Things aren't going as she had hoped, but she'll find reassurance from an unexpected ally.This is my take on how s8 should have gone. Make sure to read the notes for context.





	1. and i’ll stay here in all to get to know you

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is canon-compliant up until the very end of season 7. 
> 
> Tweaks include: 1) Jon and Dany were never a thing. 2) Nymeria follows Arya back to Winterfell. 3) The time frame between Dany's arrival in Winterfell and the battle with the Night King is a bit longer than in the show for reasons.
> 
> Title comes from Warm Blood by Flor
> 
> Btw, you can catch me on tumblr as knubtastick if you ever wanna talk thrones

Daenerys had been within Winterfell’s castle walls for less than a full day and had spent the last two candlemarks hearing nothing but groaning and complaining from the northmen and the free folk. Between the heavy snowfall that made everything so _wet _and the untrusting glares and whispers of the northern natives, the platinum haired woman had just about had enough.__

____

____

She was used to people being suspicious of her motives and doubtful of her claim to the throne. It wasn’t the worst of obstacles. Having three dragons made the process of convincing individuals of her power go a lot more smoothly. There was no denying the blood of dragons flowed in her veins when she arrived to battle on the back of Drogon.

But here, in the North, everything was so different. These people were more closed off than any she had met before. The Targaryen thought, of all times, the oncoming war with the undead might make the living easier to get along with. Apparently, she thought wrong.

Jon was of little authority, regardless of the King of the North moniker he had been gifted. And the only real figurehead among the castle, Lady Sansa, seemed to distrust her more than anyone else present. Every potential strategy she proposed for dealing with the white walkers was stonewalled by Sansa’s disapproval or outright dismissal. Daenerys felt like she was getting nowhere on any front, living or dead. Tyrion had advised her to be patient and that it would just take time for these people to come around, but time wasn’t a luxury they could afford. It was clear that she wasn’t welcomed here, even if her assistance was desperately needed.

In hopes of having a moment to herself for reprieve and to regroup, Daenerys managed to sneak away from her advisors and the other leaders while they were in a heated debate in the dining hall. With no real sense of direction, she looked for the closest isolated place and wound up in the cellar.

No sooner had she stepped through the entry way, had her foot made contact with something solid, yet soft. The platinum haired woman jerked her head downward to find what was blocking her path. There, laying at her feet comfortably, was the largest wolf Daenerys had ever laid eyes on. She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t seen it before entering the cellar. Although, it was rather dim down here, besides a few scattered torches mounted on the walls. The wolf was looking up at her with deep brown eyes, seemingly unbothered by the visitor.

“You might want to watch your step. I know Nymeria’s no dragon, but direwolves can be a handful all on their own. Trust me.”

The dragon queen startled at the unexpected voice. She never would have guessed someone else was down here. She hadn’t heard a single footstep or even soft breathing. Hand to her chest in alarm, Daenerys searched in the direction of the voice. When violet eyes met stone-colored gray ones, she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Direwolf?” she asked in confusion.

The room’s other occupant stepped closer, “I’m guessing you’ve never seen one before? Even some northerners haven’t. They’re not easy to spot, especially when they don’t want to be seen.”

The platinum haired woman felt like the stranger was speaking in riddles. It was as if she was speaking of more than just the wolf.

Lost for something better to add, Daenerys offered, “I would assume differently, based on their size.” She quirked an eyebrow in question at the wolf still comfortably resting at her feet, who’s ears perked up, as if she knew she was the topic of discussion.

Knowing smirk in place and hands clasped behind her back, the owner looked from the direwolf to her conversation partner, “And you would assume wrong, Your Grace.”

As an involuntary smile started to form on her lips, the queen responded, “I appear to be at an unfair disadvantage. You seem to know who I am, yet I know not who you are…” She paused at the end of her statement, waiting for the other woman to answer the unasked question.

The gray-eyed stranger didn’t take the bait, entirely too at ease with the lull in conversation.

Feeling very much the opposite, Daenerys resumed, “You do not have to tell me who you are…but I could venture a guess, if you’ll allow.”

Dark eyebrows rose in surprise, the stranger caught off guard by the teasing tone of the platinum haired woman’s words. “You could try, yes,” she agreed.

Taking on a more serious countenance, Daenerys vocalized her thoughts, “Based on your attire, I can only guess that you are a native here. Your jerkin appears to be both sturdy and warm, perfect for the northern lifestyle. And it also looks to be well-worn, as if you’ve owned it for a period of time.”

The dark haired woman opened her mouth to speak, no doubt to give a rebuttal, but the Targaryen cut her off.

“But there are more tells, like your light skin, for example. I’ve never seen such pale complexions as those of northern folk. And your dark features, like your hair, are also a dead giveaway,” the dragon queen elaborated.

“Your Grace, if I may, none of those things provide sturdy support for your theory. People of a variety of colors and backgrounds surround Westeros. Surely, you have not seen every manner of person there is to see? How are you to know that there are not other people of such light skin tone somewhere else?” the woman asked, looking confident that the Targaryen would be stumped.

Undeterred, Daenerys continued, “And your self-assured demeanor leads me to believe that you’ve spent too much time around nobles for their status to have any effect on you anymore. Which begs the question, why would you be surrounded by nobles so regularly to the point that you get used to them? Unless…you are a noble yourself.” She let her last words hang in the air for a moment. Almost like an afterthought, she added with a smile, “Not that your steel-gray eyes and direwolf didn’t give away your connection to the Stark name. Don’t look so surprised. It’s only logical that I know of the most prominent houses of Westeros if I am going to rule it. That, and your brother speaks of you often. I believe introductions are in order. It’s nice to finally meet you, Lady Stark.”

The other woman allowed a brief glimpse of shock and approval to pass her features before resuming her closed off look, “An impressive deduction, but I believe you’re wrong on one count, Your Grace.”

“Oh?” Daenerys asked, puzzled.

After making meaningful eye contact, the darker haired woman enlightened, “For I, Arya Stark, am no lady."

At that, she offered a short nod before grabbing her bow and quiver of arrows that she left sitting on top of one of the cellar’s wooden barrels and made an abrupt exit. Nymeria quickly rose and trotted after her master out the doorway.

Daenerys had no idea what to make of the exchange. She was left standing, suddenly alone in a dark cellar, feeling even more muddled about the North and its people.


	2. show me that you're human (make me feel something)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys sees just how different the Stark women are firsthand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Feel Something by Jaymes Young

After having her first real conversation with the youngest Stark daughter, Daenerys couldn’t help but notice her whenever their paths crossed. Whether it be an awkward interception in the castle’s corridors, or a fleeting moment of eye contact across the dining hall. No matter the reason, the platinum haired woman could not bring herself to resist paying attention to anything revolving around the young wolf.

If she heard mention of Arya among the servants or the lords, she would move a little closer to hear what they were saying. It felt like she was grasping at straws most of the time, but every now and then, she would catch the tail-end of something interesting.

The occasional eavesdropping crafted a more developed perspective of Arya for Daenerys. The servants reported only good things regarding the most mysterious Stark, saying that she never treated the handmaidens or stable boys any different from the other attendants of the castle. They spoke of her receptiveness to the common folk’s concerns, even if she wasn’t as politically involved as her older sister, Sansa.

The lords and nobles present within Winterfell’s walls had an entirely different view of Arya’s contributions. Most of the polished and opinionated guests regarded the dark-haired woman with weariness and disapproval. Apparently, they believed that she should be present at more of these council meetings than she had been. Instead of partaking like the rest of the royals, she played aloof and avoided the political sphere, unless speaking in only the company of her siblings. They emphasized the unbecoming qualities she possessed and nurtured, despite being of noble birth. These complaints usually pertained to her pursuit of swordplay and her more masculine attire and attitude.

Once, Daenerys heard an older nobleman recounting a recent encounter he had with the she-wolf. He said that he had merely advised that she might have a difficult time finding a potential suitor based on her distant demeanor and her penchant for getting into physical altercations. In response, Arya had threatened to show him how physical she could get while resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. The nobleman was so appalled, he felt the need to tell anyone who would listen about the “barbaric Stark girl”.

Daenerys found the whole thing amusing. In these gloomy times, it was exactly the kind of story she needed to hear. With the Targaryen’s strategies not being well-received during any of their war councils, she needed to be distracted sometimes by the mundane and the light-hearted. If she wasn’t, she probably would have lost any sense she has left, which would do no good for the future ruler of the seven kingdoms.

The dragon queen had recently finished another meeting with the realm’s ambassadors, to no success. She had wandered to the balcony that overlooked the castle’s battle grounds. As she looked down, she noticed a familiar head of dark hair along with a tall and burly woman with short, blonde locks. Arya and this she-warrior were dueling with entirely dissimilar techniques. The Stark woman utilized a thin sword, almost like a rapier, with quick and sharp movements. The blonde was more heavy-handed, using a hefty broadsword. Although the two were clearly trained in such varying forms of swordplay, they somehow landed and received blows with each other smoothly. Both possessed the talent and skill to meet each other strike for strike.

Daenerys was entranced while watching the duel. So much so, that she hadn’t noticed she had company. It wasn’t until she heard someone clearing their throat that she realized. Resisting the urge to jump in surprise, she looked to her left and found Sansa Stark standing next to her.

“Those two have been having these matches almost daily since she came back,” Sansa started.

Unsure, Daenerys asked, “Came back? Are you talking about the tall one?”

“No, Arya. And that’s Brienne. Brienne of Tarth,” the red-head answered and lifted her finger in the direction of the tall fighter.

“Where was Arya? Before, I mean.” The Targaryen couldn’t fight her inquisitive nature, at least when it came to the she-wolf.

Sighing, Lady Stark answered, “Gods know. She hasn’t told me much, but I know she’s changed. I can see it in her eyes.” Sansa appeared to remember who she was talking to and changed subjects, “But that’s not what I came over here for. I need to talk to you about something.”

The violet eyed woman raised her brows, encouraging her to elaborate.

“I know that I haven’t been the most welcoming of hosts…But the north, the Starks especially, have been through a lot. We’re wary of outsiders for a reason. From the Lannisters to the Boltons, high-borns have wrought nothing but suffering to these lands and its people. For that, I cannot trust you as effortlessly as you may desire,” Sansa spoke with a fierce sense of protectiveness.

Daenerys empathized with her plight, but she also saw the bigger picture, “I can only hope to never undergo the pain that you and your subjects have had, but that does not mean that I haven’t had struggles of my own, Lady Stark. Despite them, I and my people have persevered to where we are now. We have crossed continents and seas to get here. I traveled to a land I do not know to aid people I’ve never met, based on a threat that your brother, Jon, warned me of.” The dragon queen moved in closer to the auburn royal, “I took his words to heart. The words of a practical stranger. And I did that, because I recognized the greater danger. The greater enemy. The Night King and his undead army will not rest or tire while we continue to bicker over the spilled blood of the living.”

The Targaryen expected her words to have some enlightening effect on the Stark. Instead, it seemed to only infuriate her more.

A passionate fire burned behind Sansa’s ice blue eyes as she spoke with determination, “What you might call ‘bickering’ is my attempt to prevent the future spilling of my people’s blood. I will not let another drop fall because of a naïve ruler or rash decision-making. I will be sure of your intentions long before I allow you to decide what or who my people will fight for.”

Both women were fuming with barely contained fury. The two were in close quarters while facing each other, neither physically backing away from the silent standoff.

Sansa broke the stalemate, narrowing her eyes before spinning on her heel and walking away. Daenerys was left clenching her jaw and locking her hands into fists at her sides. No matter how hard she tried, it felt like she kept going in circles with these people. Didn’t they understand how dire the situation was? They were the ones who asked for her help in the first place.

The violet eyed woman glanced back down at the training grounds, only to connect with stone gray. At some point, Arya must have finished her fight, because now she was studying the dragon queen on the balcony from below.

Expecting a similar dismissal like her sister’s, Daenerys thought the younger Stark would move along without acknowledging her. On the contrary, Arya threw up her hand in a “hold on” gesture. Not sure what to do with herself, Daenerys stood there in wait. The she-wolf disappeared from her line of sight for a few moments before reappearing at the top of the stairs leading to the balcony. She walked up to the queen with a serious look on her face.

“Follow me. I want to show you something,” the dark haired girl said.

Daenerys had no real reason to refuse, so she nodded shortly before following her back downstairs. They walked in silence for a bit, leaving the castle’s main grounds in favor of the woods that enveloped the area right behind its walls. There, in the middle of the clearing of the forest, was a great weirwood tree. Daenerys had never seen one in person before, but she knew that they were important to the northerners of Westeros.

Arya said as much once she finally broke the silence, “This is the godswood and this-” she patted the trunk of the large tree in front of them, “is Winterfell’s weirwood. It’s where some of us believe that we can speak and the gods will listen.”

“And do you? Speak in the hopes that they listen?” The platinum haired woman ventured.

Arya huffed out a humorless chuckle, “Not me, Your Grace. I can’t say that I believe in much anymore, including the old gods.” She grew quiet before speaking again, “My father, on the other hand, used to come out here and sit under this tree. He’d spend hours sharpening Ice, his sword, on a whetstone while praying. He’d ask for guidance and for the safety of his family and people. When I was little, I never understood how he could spend so much time out here. It was too quiet, too still for me. But I think I get it now. It provides a place to think clearly.”

Daenerys was captivated in this moment. As far as she’d seen, the she-wolf didn’t talk too much. But here, surprisingly, this woman felt comfortable enough to speak so freely. And with someone she barely knew.

Puzzled at the thought, the Targaryen questioned, “Can I ask you something?”

Stoic mask in place, the Stark responded, “I believe you just did.” There was a sudden sparkle of mirth in her eyes that gave her away. “Ask what you like, Your Grace. I can’t promise an answer, though.”

Feeling more at ease, the dragon queen finally asked the question that was plaguing her mind, “Why do you speak so freely with me? Why speak to me at all? It is abundantly clear that your sister and the rest of your folk do not trust me.”

Turning to fully face her, Arya clarified, “Firstly, they are not ‘my’ folk. They are their own people and I do not hold claim to anyone. Secondly, my sister has always been a bit pretentious, even if she means well.” Smiling softly, she continued, “And Jon, however naïve he may be, does have a good head on his shoulders. He has a strong sense for reading people, and he believes that you are a good one.” She nodded at the other woman, “The fact that you followed him all the way back here to help stop a threat that you’ve never even seen says a lot about you. It tells me that you take the worries of your future subjects seriously.”

Daenerys was surprised to find support from such an unexpected ally, “You trust your brother’s intuition that much?” She laughed self-deprecatingly, “I can’t say that I was ever that close with my brother. He was a little less than supportive.”

Arya grimaced at that, “I heard rumors of him.”

Although it didn’t bring back the most pleasant of memories, Daenerys smiled nonetheless, “Regardless, I appreciate your faith. Based on the less than discreet whispers I’ve heard, I could use all the allies I can get.”

“If I can keep myself from maiming a Lannister, I think everyone else can find the sense to swallow their pride and receive help from a foreigner,” the she-wolf stated with an eyeroll.

Emboldened by the much-needed encouragement, the Targaryen reached out and rested her hand on the other woman’s forearm, “I mean it, thank you Arya.”

“I’d hold the gratitude. Once the Night King gets here, you might not be so thankful you traveled all the way here,” Arya jested.

Daenerys grinned, “You might have a point.” She sobered a bit before adding, “You know, Tyrion isn’t like the rest of his family. I was suspicious when he first offered his allegiance to me, but he’s done nothing but advise me to the best of his ability since he’s joined my cause.”

Appearing mildly unsettled, Arya glanced down at the hand still laying on her arm and back up to amethyst eyes, “I’m sure he has done much to try to redeem himself, Your Grace, but I cannot bring myself to forgive his part in things as easily as some might like.”

“I guess some things take more time and effort than others,” the platinum haired woman offered. In a swift change of topic, she clarified, “It’s Daenerys, by the way. No need to be so formal around me. If we’re going to trust each other enough to fight the undead together, we might as well be on a first name basis.”

Arya’s lips quirked up in a half smirk, “As you say, Daenerys.”

The queen could not ignore the flutter she felt in her stomach at the other woman calling her by name. Maybe Tyrion was right. Maybe the people of Westeros would come around, given the time.


	3. no surrender, no retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war council meetings finally turn productive, to everyone's relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Start a Riot by BANNERS

Daenerys’ army, including the Dothraki and the Unsullied, had set up camp and had been occupying the area around Winterfell for a little under a fortnight when plans started to be set in motion. The war council, which included Daenerys, Sansa, Jon, Bran, Tyrion, Grey Worm, Brienne, Ser Davos, and a multitude of other leaders, had finally agreed on what objectives to prioritize.

The first priority was that the keep would need greater numbers to properly defend it and have any chance of standing up against the Night King’s forces. This meant that more manpower would need to be found and recruited.

Grey Worm reminded everyone of the recent abduction of the rightful successor to the Iron Islands, Yara Greyjoy.

In his thick accent, he propositioned, “A search party could be assembled to locate and rescue the woman from Euron Greyjoy’s captivity. And once Yara is safely returned, Winterfell could count on the addition of the Iron Fleet’s forces for the fight to come.”

Most members of the council nodded in affirmation with Grey Worm’s idea.

Reluctantly, Tyrion added, “We could also make an attempt to reach out to Cersei.”

He was met with a boisterous amount of disagreement. It was clear that many doubted the chances of success for such an effort and did not want to waste their time and resources.

The Lannister brought attention to a detail that had been overlooked thus far, “My sister would probably only be receptive to such a request for aid if she saw an example of what we were up against.” He planted his hands on the great oak table in front of him. “In the southern regions of Westeros, no one takes these things seriously. The only time southerners hear any mention of white walkers are in their bedtime stories. Undead, made up monsters meant to scare children into going to bed when they’re told. Cersei might very well be under the same assumption, but physical proof could change her mind,” he finished with a finger pointed in the air.

“We could bring her proof. It wouldn’t be the hardest thing in the realms to do. I could gather some men along with some of the Night’s Watch and go beyond The Wall to grab one of the straggling walkers,” Jon suggested with a shrug.

Ser Davos countered, “But how would we go about transporting the thing? It’s not like we can just give it a horse and ask it to follow us. Something tells me it wouldn't be so agreeable.”

“All you have to do is bag the little guy. Wrap him in a blanket or something and tie him down to the horse. Or you could pull him on a sled from behind,” Tormund answered. “The real problem is going to be sneaking the thing past its brothers and sisters without getting caught.”

Brienne stared at the ginger giant of a man in disbelief, “Do you mean the other white walkers? And what do you mean ‘caught’?”

Tormund seemed positively giddy at the attention he received from the blonde knight, “My beautiful lady, I mean that the dead talk quite a lot for things that are supposed to be, well…dead.”

“They screech and they hiss. It’s their way of communicating and they rarely ever stop, especially when they see the living,” Jon explained.

“All it takes is one of them making a bit of noise for the rest to come running,” Tormund finished before shivering, “And trust me, you do not want the rest to show up.”

Daenerys provided her input, “Although I am sure many of us would like to avoid any contact with Cersei, she does have a force that would prove invaluable if she decided to join our fight against the Night King, however unlikely.”

Tyrion faced his queen with approval, silently nodding in thanks for her support of his idea.

Unexpectedly, Sansa agreed, “Daenerys is right. In this case, we need as many abled bodies as we can get ahold of. Which means that we have to at least try to reason with Cersei, no matter how undesirable the source of aid may be.”

“What if she decides to speak with us, but it turns out to be a trap?” Missandei wondered aloud.

Grey Worm replied to her concerns with conviction, “Then we will be prepared. The Unsullied can attend the meeting and keep watch for any possible threats. We are trained to detect suspicious activity.”

“I will join the group that decides to convene with Cersei and bring The Unsullied’s watchful eyes with me,” Daenerys stated.

Tyrion chanced a glance at the platinum haired woman beside him before adding, “I will also tag along, since I might have a chance at getting through to my sister. I mean, we are family after all, so who better?” He forced out with a smile.

Sansa looked at him from across the table with a sympathetic gaze.

“I’ll go as well.”

The table full of people turned their attention to the corner of the room that the source of the interruption came from. There, leaning against the large mantle of the fireplace, was Arya. She looked unphased by the sudden attention and the multitude of eyes on her.

“I could go as a representative of the Stark family. That way, the real leaders of Winterfell, Jon and Sansa-” she looked at the two siblings respectively, “aren’t put in danger by any possible schemes the Lannister queen might have planned.”

The northern leaders at the table mumbled their consent to the young Stark’s proposal. The Vale’s, Lord Yohn Royce, supported Arya’s statement, “Winterfell cannot be left without its leaders, or else the Night King might take advantage of such vulnerability.”

“And I can also serve as another pair of attentive eyes for the Queen,” Arya suggested, while jutting her chin in the direction of the Targaryen.

Grey Worm opened his mouth in rebuttal, but Daenerys beat him to it, “Between our two houses, Cersei might have a reason to be fearful, but I would appreciate the company.”

The dragon queen smiled at the she-wolf, who presented a hesitant half-smirk in response.

Both Sansa and Missandei looked between the women with thinly veiled shock at the familiarity of the exchange.

“It’s settled then. We will form groups for each of these tasks,” Jon said, addressing the entirety of the room, “I will lead the group that collects the white walker as proof.”

“I can gather more of my freefolk. We can go together. Make a trip of it,” Tormund provided.

Jon grinned at the other man, “Good. And we can pick up more of the Night’s Watch once we make it to The Wall.”

Daenerys piped in, “And the Unsullied, Tyrion, Arya, and I will cover the meeting with Cersei, which will have to wait until after you’ve obtained the white walker.”

“Which means that all we have left to determine is who will go to free Yara Greyjoy,” Brienne summarized.

Arya made her way up to the side of the center table, “Since I’ll have to wait until Jon and his group get back, I’ll join the effort to get Yara out in the meantime.”

“You can count me in as well,” Brienne quickly got on board.

“Any other volunteers?” Jon asked.

Sansa answered on behalf of the rest of the room's occupants, "We can send some of our bannermen with them." 

“I could take one of the dragons out to scout in the location we last heard of her whereabouts,” Daenerys responded, “We’ll save time and manpower if we do it my way.”

Tyrion stepped toward her, “Your Majesty, you cannot go alone. It is unsafe to travel without some type of protection.”

“I won’t be alone, I’ll have Drogon,” Daenerys argued.

Tyrion didn’t seem the least bit comforted, “What if he gets hurt and you have no way of getting back or contacting us? You'd be stranded all by yourself. Or what if you dismount and are separated from your dragon? They could spot you from miles away and sneak up on you.”

“If it troubles you so much, I could bring someone else along,” The Targaryen said in an attempt to placate her right hand. She turned her head towards the opposite side of the table, “Arya.”

The she-wolf was already looking at her when her name was called.

“Since you’ll be a part of the rescue team, it makes sense that you should go with me. You’ll get an opportunity to scout out what you’re up against before entering wherever they have Yara held,” Daenerys reasoned.

Arya simply nodded her acceptance to the proposal.

Sansa brought the council meeting to a close, “I think that covers as much as we can for this meeting. You all have jobs to do, so let’s get to work. Those planning to leave, get ready to travel. And those staying, continue to stock up the keep’s food reservoirs and prepare the castle’s defenses.”

People dispersed from the main dining hall in minutes, all with specific orders to carry out.


	4. feel love, how it hurts us (fire in my chest, watch it burn out)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya has a few things to settle before she can leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you were all looking forward to the dragon ride, and trust me I am too, but I needed to lay some groundwork before they take flight (pun intended). Fear not, I do see dragons in your future. I mean, in this story, not necessarily in your actual life lol. Read and enjoy my pals!
> 
> Title credit goes to 7UP by Boy in Space

Arya had just entered her chambers and began to pull out her saddlebags to pack for her scouting trip when Sansa burst through the door without knocking. Nymeria, who was sitting at the foot of the bed watching her master move around the room, rose at the sudden entrance.

“Explain yourself,” the auburn woman demanded, standing ramrod straight.

Arya rolled her eyes at her sister, “Weren’t you the one who always berated me for my lack of manners? I believe entering someone’s room without permission is the very opposite of etiquacy.”

Sighing, Sansa complained, “Arya, now is not the time.”

The shorter woman did not dignify her with a response, she pointedly glanced back and forth between the chamber entryway and her sister.

Sansa stomped back to the door and slammed it closed as she exited the room before knocking from the outside. “My dear, bratty sister, may I please enter?” she inquired, full of sarcasm.

Cheekily smiling to herself, Arya gave the affirmative, “Why yes, you may.”

The older Stark sibling made her way back through the doorway before she picked up where she left off, “Now that your sudden desire for decorum has been satisfied, you need to explain what just happened in that council meeting.”

“A lot of things happened. Mostly the discussion of tactics and strategies. Although I did hear Tormund attempt to impress Brienne with one of his beyond-the-Wall stories. She didn’t seem that interested,” Arya said, shrugging her shoulders.

Voice rising in irritation, Sansa countered with her hands on her hips, “Arya. You know that’s not what I mean.”

The young wolf matched her volume, “No, actually, I don’t believe that I do. You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Gods, why is everything such a fight with you?” Sansa growled out. “Explain why you decided to take that Targaryen’s side without so much as asking if I was in favor of her idea? You don’t know her.”

Arya narrowed her eyes, “And neither do you. Sansa, there are no sides here. If there was, it would just be the living and the dead.” She flung her hands in the air as she spoke, “And what do you mean, ‘ask you’? I don’t need your permission. Where I go and who I go with is none of your concern.”

“Of course it’s my concern!” Grasping for reasons against going, the older sister spluttered, “How can any of us trust that she won’t get you killed while you’re gone? What if she turns her dragon on you and it burns you to a crisp? What if she really just wants to dwindle down the surviving Starks until there is no one left to threaten her hold over the North?”

The dark haired woman stepped up squarely to the other, “Is that what this is all about? Whether or not the Queen might renounce you of your claim to these lands?” She smiled mirthlessly, “Then again, you always did want to meet your perfect prince so that you could marry into power, didn’t you? It’s too bad Joffrey wasn’t so pliable.”

It was a low-blow and both sisters knew it.

Sansa swallowed hard before responding, “I thought…after everything we’d been through, we might actually care about each other. That, despite the odds, the fact that our family is home again might mean something to you. To Jon. To Bran.” Blinking back tears, she moved to the door she came from. She rested her hand on the door’s handle as she turned her head to the side to face her younger sister, eyes casted downward, “And yet, I feel like I’m the only one fighting for what little we have left.”

Arya looked crestfallen. Sansa’s actions thus far had appeared to stem from a thirst for control, but her words reflected differently. Arya wasn’t the same little girl that her siblings remembered, though. She spent years becoming No One. She trained relentlessly to become faceless, a shadow. She couldn’t let herself get invested in the familial baggage of a name she no longer considered her own. There were too many old wounds that would reopen with such actions. Wounds that she’s not sure she could close and ignore if forced to confront them again. The younger Stark attempted to apologize for assuming the worst, but the auburn woman had already made a hasty retreat. If the she-wolf had known that Sansa’s motives were so personal, she wouldn’t have acted so childish.

“Well Nym, I guess I haven’t changed as much as I thought.”

The direwolf quirked her head to the side at the sound of her name.

“Is talking to your wolves a habit among the Starks?”

Daenerys was observing her interaction from the entryway. “Sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. You appeared to be preoccupied with both your sister and your pet.”

Arya rubbed her hand across the back of her neck, “Heard that, did you?”

“That wasn’t my intention, no. I wanted to check in with you in regards to our outing,” the dragon queen supplied before stepping through the threshold. “If it makes a difference, I did do my best not to overhear.”

Arya scoffed indignantly at that, “There’s no need for that, Your Grace. You shouldn’t have to tip toe around the keep like you’re on eggshells.” She then grumbled under her breath, “That might end up being my responsibility for the foreseeable future.”

“No family comes without conflict,” Daenerys said while she bobbed her head in understanding.

“It would appear so.” Arya remarked gravely. “You said you had some things you wanted to go over before leaving to scout for Yara Greyjoy?”

Amethyst eyes connected with stone-colored ones, “Yes, I did. I wanted to talk to you about our method of transportation, specifically.”

The Stark dipped her head, signaling the woman to continue.

“You see, my dragons are not the most neutral of mounts. They do not let just anyone ride them. That is to say, they haven’t actually carried anyone besides myself,” the royal finished with a grimace.

Instead of showing hesitancy or fear, the she-wolf appeared to be bolstered by the possibility of such a challenge. Her eyes lit up in subdued anticipation; she gave the impression that she was restraining herself.

“Your Grace-”

“Daenerys,” the platinum haired woman chided.

“Daenerys,” Arya corrected herself with a good-natured eye roll, “I think death by dragon wouldn’t be the worst of ways to go.”

The Targaryen was caught off guard, “Arya. I’m serious. Dragons might be beautiful beasts, but they’re also highly temperamental. The last thing I need is an accident between you and one of my children. If I thought the northerners didn’t approve of me before, imagine what they’d be like if they found out one of their invaluable Starks was devoured whole while under my care.”

Dark eyebrows rose in shock, “Under your care?”

Daenerys’ cheeks went crimson at the choice of words that Arya decided to focus on. She floundered for a moment before defending herself, “I just meant that I would be blamed since it’s my dragon and it was my idea in the first place.”

“I see,” the gray eyed woman meandered towards her guest, hands loosely clasped behind her back, “And why exactly did you choose to have me accompany you?”

Moving backwards marginally, Daenerys self-consciously answered, “I gave my reasons at the meeting. You already volunteered to partake in the rescue mission and you are well-versed with the various uses of a blade. You seemed like the most logical choice.”

“Mhmm,” the younger woman hummed, unconvinced. “Brienne fits all of those categories as well, you know. She is just as skilled, if not more, in areas of combat and she volunteered to join the efforts to liberate Yara also.”

The platinum royal looked on the brink of distress, but her adversary was comfortable in her stance. Although she felt a thousand nerves, like butterflies, filling her stomach, Daenerys was enjoying the seamless banter. It had been awhile since she met someone who challenged her enough without being a legitimate threat to her pursuits. It was thrilling in a way.

“You might have a point, but then I wouldn’t have the opportunity to spend quality time with someone as entertaining as yourself,” the Queen teased.

“Entertaining? Me? Is that what you wish for me to do?” Arya pressed in on the other woman with a wicked gleam in her eye, “Entertain you?”

Daenerys needed to find the upper ground. She was a queen afterall, she shouldn’t be so easily flustered.

Meeting the she wolf head-on, she answered, “Entertain me you shall when you don’t heed my warnings and end up ashes at the feet of Drogon.”

There was no real bite to the lighter haired woman’s quip, but it did do the trick.

“As you command, Your Highness,” Arya mock-bowed, “I will take your advice to heart and be cautious with your _dragons _.” She waggled her eyebrows at the violet eyed ruler.__

____

____

The innuendo was not lost on the Targaryen, “Who knew the Starks had a penchant for such crude humor. Maybe I will ask Brienne of Tarth instead. I heard she was of much more noble caliber,” she ended with her nose imperiously in the air.

“What can I say? I was raised by wolves. And we both know you won’t change your mind,” the dark haired woman responded casually.

“Oh, do we now?”

Arya gasped dramatically, “Imagine what people would think? The Targaryen retracts her offer and decides to forgo leaving with the Stark. How scandalous of you.”

Daenerys walked out of the room's threshold and pivoted to face the other woman from the hallway, “I think I liked you better when you kept your conversations between you and your wolf.” She smiled at both of the wolves before departing to pack for herself. “And be prepared to deal with one unruly dragon. You two might even find common ground on that front,” she called from the corridor.

Arya smirked to herself as she patted her hound and resumed her preparations.


	5. we can keep it light, we're going somewhere (i grab and hold on tight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon and wolf meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title credit goes to Hold On by Flor

Daenerys was standing nearby Drogon, lightly stroking his snout, out in the clearing that had been designated the dragons’ space. His siblings, Rhaegal and Viserion, were taken elsewhere while he was being groomed for the journey. The beast was more than content with the attention he was receiving from his mother.

“Drogon, I need you to do something for me,” Daenerys spoke.

He looked her in the eyes like he understood her every word.

“I’m about to ask you to do something you might not like, but I need you to do it regardless,” the dragon queen repositioned her hands to the sides of the large animal’s head, “I will not be the only one riding you today and I know you’re not fond of the idea, but I need you to make an exception at least this once.”

Daenerys caught sight of a figure in her peripheral vision. Arya was standing a solid ten yards away or so with a satchel on the ground next to her. Her measurable distance implied that she understood the importance of being cautious around the dragons.

Once Drogon noticed his mother was turned in another direction, he followed her line of sight.

“I guess Starks aren’t the only ones who like to talk with their animals,” Arya jested.

On guard, the beast bared its teeth with a low rumble of a growl. Daenerys was about to scold him when she heard another snarl. Near Arya was her direwolf. Nymeria’s fur was raised along her spine and her paws were planted in a wide stance. The wolf gave off an intimidating presence, but it didn’t deter the dragon. If anything, it made him more aggressive. Drogon moved ahead of his mother to separate her from the wolves. Nymeria began to do the same thing as she stepped in front of her master.

“Stop it Nym,” Arya said, but the wolf ignored her in favor of the possible threat. Taking on a sterner tone of voice, she attempted a second time, “Nymeria, that’s enough. I told you not to follow me.”

The direwolf caught the severity of the command and stepped back to her owner’s side. She was no longer actively growling at the dragon, but she whined occasionally from next to her master.

Daenerys did much the same, placing a calming hand on Drogon’s neck. “It’s okay, Drogon.” It took some coaxing, but she managed to calm the dragon down and moved back in front of him.

“A wolf that doesn’t follow directions? What a surprise.”

Arya fought back a smile, “We’re all a little bull-headed up North.”

Pleased that the Stark didn’t misunderstand her joke and take offense, the Targaryen beamed, “My experience thus far does substantiate such a claim.”

The two women watched each other, lost in the moment until Nymeria released a rather sharp whine that caused Drogon to grumble menacingly at the visitors.

“How did you manage to get past the guards?” Daenerys probed.

“Your friend, Missandei? She let me through. She requested that I inform you that she expects to speak with you once we get back.”

The platinum haired woman knew exactly what that would be about. Missandei had already pestered her while she was packing with questions about the she-wolf. Her best friend found the sudden acquaintanceship between the dragon queen and the young Stark suspicious. Daenerys had managed to avoid her interrogation by stressing the importance of time. She simply reminded Missandei of the dire circumstances they were under, with the Night King and all, and told her they’d have to address the issue at another time.

The violet eyed ruler knew that her best friend was only looking out for her, but she wasn’t even sure how to answer her questions. The Stark woman was beyond allusive, so she wasn’t quite positive on what exactly their dynamic was. Were they circumstantial allies, possible friends? Daenerys had no clear indication of an answer.

Arya motioned to the large beast in wonder, “So this is the dragon that we’ll ride? He’s…magnificent, like the old tales come to life.”

Daenerys wasn’t expecting such reverence in the woman’s approach. It was magical all on its own. “Arya, meet Drogon. Drogon, this is Arya.” She gazed back and forth between the two.

The small but lean fighter looked deep into the dragon’s eyes. To the astonishment of his mother, Drogon allowed the Stark to step closer. Nymeria remained behind, reluctantly, but not without keeping a watchful eye on the exchange.

The she-wolf tossed out a quiet “You’re not so bad, huh,” but other than that, made a quiet and gradual advance towards the hulking beast. She was within reaching distance of the dragon when he decided that the moment was over. He huffed, bored, and turned his body back to Daenerys, effectively ending the interaction.

Rather than disappointment, Arya’s face was smoothed in soft awe. Once the Targaryen saw her expression, she couldn’t help but mirror it.

“That’s certainly a start in the right direction,” Daenerys determined with a light laugh.

The two were interrupted by an authoritative voice calling out, “Lady Arya.”

Both women rotated to find Brienne marching their way. The burly woman came to a halt at a sensible distance from the dragon.

“If you have a moment, I would like to go over the safety measures we have instilled in case you do not return in the expected time from your travels,” she explained.

Cutting her eyes at the blonde, Arya complained as she walked over, “I already told you. I’m no lady. And I do not need your oversight. I am more than capable of handling a simple scouting mission.”

“Listen here, rascal.” Brienne squared her shoulders, “You may have rejected my offer of protection and service in the past, but now I am no longer asking. I made an oath to your mother that I fully intend to keep. And since accepting my pledge, your sister has asked that I look out for you as well, no matter if you resist every step of the way.”

Daenerys would have thought that the two swordswomen were genuinely agitated with each other, if it weren’t for the sudden break in the tension-filled façade.

The towering blonde captured the small brunette with one arm and used the other to ruffle the young Stark’s tresses. “I’ll teach you to disrespect your elders!”

Arya could have effortlessly broken from Brienne’s hold, but she let the older woman proceed to wreck her hair and her detached reputation anyways. Laughing at her friend, she shoved her off before straightening out her jerkin and her hair, “Whatever you say, Brienne. Speaking of my sister, where is she?”

“Busy, I’m afraid. Told me that she had a lot to do and that I should check in on you before you leave in her stead,” The Tarth-born offered, a more apologetic look overtaking her features.

Shaking it off, the she-wolf remarked, “It’s probably for the best.”

Daenerys stood to the side as she watched their conversation. The two were obviously closer than she originally perceived. They spoke volumes in body language and few words.

Brienne nodded gruffly before getting back to business, “She wanted me to ensure that you were reminded of the window of time that would be deemed acceptable for the scouting endeavor before a search party for you would be dispensed.”

“I know, I know. Anything beyond three days and Sansa will go berserk.”

“You know that she only gets this way because she cares about you,” Brienne reminded patiently.

Sighing, Arya griped, “I just wish she’d divvy out such ‘care’ to Jon or Bran.”

“Sibling relationships can be quite arduous, can’t they?” the violet-eyed ruler inputted.

“That they can, Your Highness,” the blonde concurred whilst bowing out of the discussion. She tossed a succinct “Three days, Arya, and not a bit more,” over her shoulder as she left.

The she-wolf twisted back to address her riding companion, “Now that all of that’s out of the way, why don’t we get a move on, yes?”

Daenerys extended her hand in the direction of Drogon, “If you are ready, then let’s.”

Walking back to her original spot, Arya bent over to retrieve her satchel. She then brushed her fingers through the scruff on the neck of her awaiting direwolf. “Alright, Nym, go on. Go out for a hunt or go see your brother,” she proposed and tilted her head in the direction of the keep. Nymeria peered at the woman with her deep brown eyes, seeking to change her master’s mind. “Go on girl, I’ll be back before you know it.”

The wolf must’ve recognized a losing battle when she saw one, because she stood and retired to the snowy fortress, but not without looking back at least once.

Patting her bag, Arya informed the Targaryen, “I packed light, figuring we’re not travelling in the most traditional of ways.” Lifting her eyebrows at a saddle-less Drogon, she made her point clear.

“Sorry about that. There’s not too many dragon riders these days,” Daenerys remarked in bemusement.

“Hopefully we can add another to the list after today.”

“We can certainly try. Just follow my lead,” Daenerys advised.

The women moved up next to Drogon again. Looking more comfortable now that Nymeria was gone, he permitted them to get up close.

“Drogon, are you ready to fly?”

The dragon looked as unperturbed as ever.

“I think that’s as strong of an affirmation as we’re going to get,” the platinum haired woman decided. “Alright, so you’re going to use his foot as a step, basically. He knows what to do, we’ll just have to see if he actually lets you. And you’ll pull yourself up by holding onto his back,” Daenerys looked to her riding partner, “I’ll get on first, that way if there’s any problems, I can help you up.”

The amethyst-eyed woman followed through with her words and mounted Drogon like any other time she had done so. Arya made to copy her movements when she caught the beast side-eyeing her. He didn’t display any open hostility, just silent judgement. It was like he was sizing her up. Remarkably, he allowed the Stark to clamber on. Daenerys offered her hand to help the other woman up the rest of the way.

Once the pair were safely settled atop the beast, the Targaryen encouraged the dragon to take flight. Powerful wings began to flap and Drogon swiftly built up momentum and lifted them off the ground. Instinctually, the young Stark wrapped her arms around the waist of the body in front of her as they flew higher.

Daenerys yelled over the sound of air rushing past them, “How’s it feel to fly, Stark?”

Arya tightened her hold on the royal and leaned in closer so that she could be heard better, “It’s kind of amazing. I’m not sure how you ever manage to come back down.”

“As lovely as it is up here, there’s always things that need doing down there.”

The wolf nodded sagely. Even though Daenerys couldn’t see her do so, she could feel the motion just above her shoulder. The dark-haired woman was wrapped so firmly around the dragon queen that it was nearly impossible not to catch the most minor of movements.

“I will say, for my first ride with a passenger, it does have its perks,” Daenerys commented over the wind.

Drogon ceased ascending at this point in favor of calmly gliding through the clouds, which made it possible for the women to talk at a normal volume and still be heard.

Arya nudged Daenerys from behind. “And what would you claim are the perks?” she asked curiously.

Smiling coyly, Daenerys let go of Drogon’s neck and placed her palms on the arms settled at her waist, “For starters, there’s this.”

In an uncharacteristic display, Arya lost her cool composure and coughed as she loosened her grip, “Um, sorry about that. I should’ve asked first before basically manhandling you. There weren’t many options to find purchase on.”

When the she-wolf began to pull away, the violet-eyed woman’s reassurances were instantaneous, “Arya, you’re fine. Drogon can be a little aggressive in his flight patterns, so you should probably keep ahold of me. I don’t need you falling off for the sake of unnecessary chivalry.” She made sure to catch the Stark’s eye, “Do I look uncomfortable to you?”

“No. I guess not.”

If anything, the Targaryen exhibited a peaceful contentment that hadn’t once made an appearance since arriving in Winterfell. Daenerys could feel steel-gray eyes locked on her.

Shaking her head to refocus, Arya suggested, “Since we’ve slowed down, maybe we should take a look at the map I put in my bag. Grey Worm marked down the last known whereabouts of Yara on it for me before we left. We could make our way to the area and start scouting. We have plenty of daylight left to work with.”

Daenerys squeezed the strong forearms across her abdomen in affirmation, “Sounds as good a place to start as any.”


	6. i see everything you can be (i see the beauty that you can't see)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scouting mission begins and Dany and Arya run into someone unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me such a hot minute to post. I've been working like crazy. Hopefully it was worth the wait!
> 
> Title credit to Outnumbered by Dermot Kennedy (I think his music style perfectly fits this ship btw)

The Stark and Targaryen had spent the better part of the morning and afternoon scouring through tree-covered lands from above. The sun was starting to set and evening was upon them. They were certain, based off information gathered by Varys the Spider’s numerous spies, that Euron had decided to move his prisoner to a landlocked location. Arya questioned the integrity of such a tip, saying that the Greyjoy was known to rarely ever leave his ship most days, unless to visit the nearest brothel. Varys defended his agents, explaining that that’s exactly why they spoke truth. It was the last place anyone would expect Euron to hide something as vital as Yara, the last remaining threat to his title as King of the Iron Islands. He was a man born to sail the crashing waves of the open sea, not pedal through the muddy forest floors of Westeros. Varys emphasized the unpredictability of such a change in scenery and how it served as the perfect cover to keep his pursuers off his trail.

“Maybe we should land and make camp for a bit. It would provide us with an opportunity to stretch our legs,” Daenerys offered.

Arya hesitated as she looked towards the sun’s placement in the sky, “I guess we have been at this for a while,” before she acquiesced, “Alright, but only for a bit. I would hate to come back empty handed from this trip.”

“Your sore body will be of no use to an imprisoned and guarded Yara if you don’t take care of it,” the Queen reasoned.

The gray eyed passenger grumbled under her breath in dissent. Something about “discipline” and “always being prepared”.

Smiling to herself, Daenerys chirped, “Cheer up Wolf! If fortune favors us, we might find some tracks once we’re closer to the ground.”

Directing him, the Targaryen had Drogon touch down in a patch where the trees weren’t too packed together. It provided enough space for Drogon to spread out comfortably and for the women to set up a temporary rest spot.

Arya slipped down from the beast’s back first and proffered a steady hand in assistance when it was the platinum haired woman’s turn. Amethyst eyes darted downward as she ducked her head bashfully and offered a soft “thank you” in return. The Stark grinned and a hushed “welcome” passed her lips. The two made short work of setting up camp. Arya took it upon herself to collect some kindling and start a fire. Daenerys unpacked the food from their bags. Afterwards, both pushed a nearby fallen tree log towards the fire for seating.

The party of three made themselves comfortable. Drogon was laying nearby, resting his wings. The other two situated themselves on the log not too far apart, warming up by the fire and chewing on bits of bread and dried meat. They took turns washing their food down with a shared waterskin.

As the pair finished their meal, Daenerys mentioned, “I could have probably had Drogon start the fire.”

The she-wolf peered to her right at her companion with raised eyebrows, “Done that before, have you?”

Shrugging a shoulder, the Targaryen explained, “No, but I’m sure he would do it if I asked. I don’t often have him use his fire, not unless it’s necessary.”

“Necessary? Like burning your enemies?” Arya questioned.

Daenerys expected to hear disapproval or judgement in her tone, instead she only registered genuine curiosity. She noticed that the younger woman had this subtle twinkle of wonderment in her eyes whenever speaking about the dragons. It was a refreshing sight, since most people’s responses regarding her dragons were negative and intense. Usually, people saw them as monsters or potential weapons to wield and control for their personal aspirations. It was disheartening at times.

Answering honestly, Daenerys reasoned, “If the circumstances demand it, yes. If I expect to maintain any authority over my subjects, sometimes I must remind them of the power I possess.”

“Is that what you were doing when you had Randyll and Dickon Tarly burned?” Arya queried. The she-wolf recognized how her question could be misunderstood and swiftly rectified her words, maneuvering her hands as she spoke, “I don’t mean that the way it sounds.” Gray eyes rolled in frustration, “That imp just spouts gossip from sunrise ’til sundown and it’s difficult not to catch some of the stories he regales passerbys with.” The Stark's eyes clouded momentarily, “And some I deeply wish I could un-hear.”

Daenerys was unsure of what the swordswoman meant by that last statement but didn’t feel they were close enough to ask her meaning. Focusing on what she did feel comfortable in addressing, the Targaryen agreed, “Tyrion can be a bit too gratuitous with his knowledge at times, but he truly doesn’t do so with ill intentions.” Violet irises bored into gray, “Although I cannot speak for Tyrion’s perception of that day, I can assure you that I did what I did to the Tarly’s because I had to. They were actively supporting the Lannisters’ efforts against me. It was after the battle that I gave them a choice. I provided the father, Randyll, an opportunity to bend the knee in submission to my claim to the throne. I offered them all a chance at mercy.”

Daenerys, for reasons unknown to her, wanted Arya to understand. She wanted her to see, however extreme her actions may appear, that she did them for the betterment of the realm. The shadow that the last Targaryen monarch casted on Daenerys engrained her with a constant need to defend her actions. She would fight the misassumption until her dying breath that she, too, would be a mad ruler like her father.

“When Lord Tarly renounced my claim, he made his loyalties clear. This is war, and in war, anyone who is not loyal to me is against me,” the dragon queen clarified with quiet intensity. Continuing, she further clarified, “His son volunteered himself once his father voiced his allegiances. I didn’t want either of them to die, but they felt their cause was worth their lives.” Daenerys looked away from her audience and released a morose sigh, “In a way, I respected his commitment, even when facing down as intimidating of an end as Drogon. But his beliefs could stir more treason…so I had both men burned.”

Daenerys’ head shot up when she felt a warm, calloused hand firmly pressed on her own that was resting atop the log. Arya had migrated closer and was looking at her with a steely expression, lips in a tight line, “We’re all responsible for the choices we make, and the consequences that follow.”

In that moment, the Stark looked exhausted beyond her years. Her stone-gray eyes darkened with a struggle in their depths that no words could convey. This woman was more than a loyal sister or a capable fighter. This woman had endless layers and Daenerys found herself wanting to uncover as many as she possibly could.

Fighting the voice in her head that warned her it was too much, too soon, the platinum haired woman opened her mouth to find out just what kind of pains ailed the she-wolf.

But the spell was broken by Drogon snapping his jowls and letting out a sharp hiss from the back of his throat.

Arya jumped up immediately, unsheathing Needle and facing the direction that the dragon was fixated on. Distractedly, the dark-haired woman used her right arm to gently shepherd the Targaryen royal behind her.

“Make yourself known, or you’ll have a very irate dragon to deal with,” Daenerys commanded.

From behind a tree, a disheveled redheaded man made his way out into the open. He had his dirt-covered hands extended in the air in surrender. His beard was as unkept as the locks on his head. Arya found something about the man familiar, but she couldn’t place him. It wasn’t until Daenerys spoke up, that the Stark made the connection.

“Theon Greyjoy?” the dragon queen ventured, stunned.

Theon’s eyes were wide with terror.

“Your Highness-” he started.

Arya cut the man off, placing the end of her blade at his throat. At the movement, Drogon raised his hackles, baring his teeth at the intruder. Theon’s hands remained elevated and in clear sight. He gulped anxiously and looked from the young Stark, to the dragon, to the monarch.

Daenerys wasn’t sure what set her ally off, but she attempted to lessen the tension in the air. She stepped up behind the she-wolf and spoke softly to her and only her, “Arya, he is a friend. Sort of. He’s Yara’s brother.”

The Stark mumbled a quiet, “I know who he is,” without breaking eye contact with the distressed redhead.

Not sure of what to do with the new information, the Targaryen then moved her line of sight beyond the back of the Stark’s head to address the man. Eyebrows scrunched in bafflement, she voiced, “We thought you were dead. Or that you vanished, never to return. We didn’t hear a word from you after your sister was captured.”

Theon looked down, his face drawn in shame and guilt. He was visibly fighting back his emotions before he answered the unasked question, “I tried to gather some of the Ironborn to help me rescue her. I did what I could to prove myself to them…and it almost worked.” Smiling humorlessly to himself, he looked beyond Daenerys and Arya, like he wasn’t even speaking to them, “Until they decided her and I weren’t worth it. We made camp for the night to rest. I had fallen asleep. They took the horses and deserted me before the sun rose the next morning.”

Not once had Arya's sword arm wavered, keeping the tip of Needle directly under the man’s chin. Daenerys took matters into her own hands. She moved out from behind the dark-haired woman. Delicately, she rested her hand on the young Stark’s left shoulder and gradually moved it down the rest of her arm, until their hands met. A gentle but firm pressure from the Targaryen made the she-wolf retreat her blade from its former position. Instead of pressing against Theon’s jugular, Arya’s weapon now hung limply by her side.

Looking pointedly between Greyjoy and Stark, Daenerys observed, “I believe that it wasn’t a coincidence that we ran into each other. You see, we are both searching for the same thing; Yara. If we work together, we might even find her sooner than we hoped to.”

Theon stared at the dragon queen in bewilderment, “You were…I mean, you _are _looking for Yara? Your Highness?”__

__

__“Yes, Theon. Both Arya and I are,” She gestured between the two of them as she said so. “We have discovered a threat much greater than any Cersei could pose and we need your sister’s help to dispose of it,” the monarch supplied, bringing the man up to speed._ _

__

__After a moment’s pause, Theon decided, “I see…I am at your service then. I will help you find Yara and then I will help in any way I can to squash this threat.” His tone was sincere and his jaw was squared with resolve._ _

__

__Platinum hair swayed as the Targaryen nodded in recognition of the Ironborn’s pledge. She looked over to her companion for support, but all she found was a closed-off mask that betrayed little on Arya’s face._ _


	7. you can tell me anything, i won't be your enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Arya learn more about each other, both willingly and unwillingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up with some comments if you want guys! Also, you can find me on tumblr as knubtastick if you wanna talk there too.
> 
> Title credit goes to Hazel by Carlie Hanson

The group had decided to cease their search and rest for the night before resuming in the morning. Theon was visibly drained and could use the lull in activity to recuperate. Drogon also hadn’t had anything to eat since landing. Under the cover of nightfall, the dragon took to the skies to hunt for his dinner, on his mother’s orders to be back soon.

Arya provided no verbal resistance to Daenerys’ intentions of having Theon join them, but her body language suggested a notable reluctance. The she-wolf had made her suspicions of the new addition to the group clear, choosing to stay awake and vigilant by the fire as opposed to trying to catch some sleep on one of the blankets they brought with them. Although gray eyes never settled on the Greyjoy for long, it was indisputable that her senses were keyed in on the man’s every move. As he nibbled on some of their shared rations, as he gathered nearby branches for the fire, as he prepared a spot to settle down on, Arya remained alert throughout.

Eventually, Theon managed to fall asleep on his bedroll, even while under the young Stark’s intense scrutiny. The red-headed man was too exhausted to fight the temptation of unconsciousness that seeped into every corner of his mind.

Daenerys took the opportunity of quasi-privacy to confront Arya on her behavior. Taking soft steps, the amethyst-eyed woman neared the swordswoman’s place by the burning flames. Standing over her, the platinum royal asked, “Would you like to tell me why you reacted the way you did to Theon’s arrival?”

“No, I don’t think I would,” the she-wolf answered lowly, her neutral countenance unaltering. She didn’t make eye contact with the other woman as she spoke. In fact, she didn’t even attempt to raise her head to answer from where she was sitting.

At times like this, the Targaryen could see how people made such incorrect assumptions about the young woman. Her stiff stature and short answers lended to the appearance that she was unapproachable and removed. Unfeeling. None of those things had been true regarding Daenerys’ experiences with the fighter thus far.

“I’m not the enemy, you know.” The dragon queen sighed out tiredly. She descended and made herself comfortable on the ground to the left of the dark-haired girl. “Sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to. Someone removed from the issue.”

“To be honest, I feel like I’ve done more talking in the past month than I have in years,” Arya nearly whispered, eyes trained on the fire in front of her.

Daenerys caught her words and her voice softened in response, “What do you mean?”

“Before I…before I came back to Winterfell, I spent most of my time alone. And when I wasn’t by myself, I didn’t have much of an opportunity for talking. If anything, I tried to be overlooked and unnoticed. My intention was to be a nobody, someone unmemorable,” the she-wolf brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, “Since returning to the north, I’m suddenly somebody again. And somebody comes with expectations and…and history.” By the end, the Stark spoke so quietly that it was difficult to hear her over the crackle of the fire.

The monarch searched the woman’s expression with imploring violet eyes, hoping her face would bely more clues as to her past. When she found none, Daenerys replied to what little information she did know, “It’s never that simple. No matter how far you travel.” She gestured grandly as she spoke, “You could journey beyond Essos, across the Summer Sea, all the way to Sothoryos, and you still wouldn’t be able to outrun your past. It always catches up to you.”

Arya finally peered at the Breaker of Chains, surveying her honesty.

“Believe me when I say, I know from experience. As a child, I was moved place to place in an effort to escape my family name. And no matter where I went or who I stayed with, my past would eventually catch up to me and I’d have to go on the run all over again.” The two nobles connected eyes, which gave Daenerys the reassurance to continue, knowing that she had an interested listener, “But look at me now. Things are how they were always meant to be. I am on the path to be the next Targaryen leader, who can redeem my family line and overcome rulers as dreadful as Cersei Lannister. As a girl, I thought only my brother could fill that role.”

The platinum haired woman saw a fleeting sense of pain and understanding cross her companion’s features, before being replaced by a smirk. “The men really do get all the good stuff, don’t they? They already get to piss while standing up, what more do they need?” Arya asked rhetorically.

Pleasantly surprised by the light-hearted turn of conversation, Daenerys laughed, “And what a gift that is.”

The pair wore reciprocated smiles, both absorbed in the moment and each other. It felt like the Targaryen had barely had time to revel in the peaceful atmosphere that the two had made before Arya seemed to close herself off again.

The Stark got to her feet, brushing off her backside, and spoke briskly, “I’m going to check the perimeter, make sure there’s nothing suspicious. I shouldn’t take long.”

In one swift motion, the girl moved around Daenerys and into the tree line, out of sight. Once again, the violet eyed monarch was left speechless and baffled by the actions of the she-wolf. At times, she saw a snarky, lively woman, and at others, she was met with distant eyes and cold words. It was jarring and unpredictable. There was no denying that the Stark was battling some form of internal battle, but what, Daenerys had no inkling of an idea. But she hoped to find out.

\--------------------------------------------- 

Arya was making her way through the forest floor stealthily, senses peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Not only was it an excuse to get away from the Targaryen royal, but she also needed to do at least one more sweep around the camp’s borders before she could feel comfortable enough to settle in for the night.

Expecting to not be stationary for long, the women hadn’t picked the most defendable of positions to land and set up at. But after encountering Theon, they hadn’t been given much of a choice. It’s not like Drogon would allow the Greyjoy to just hop right on his back. They had no horses, so mobility wasn’t a luxury they possessed. Therefore, they were stuck with the place they first landed.

Arya had felt like she was drowning in the overwhelming emotions that talking with the dragon queen forced to the surface. She hadn’t meant to speak so plainly about such personal feelings, but somehow, the Targaryen coaxed these thoughts out of her. It was alarming, to say the least. The she-wolf had spent so many years forgetting about her past and pushing away any of the emotions associated with it, to the point that her tame conversation with Daenerys left her feeling restless. If Jaqen could see her right now, opening up and then fleeing from a mere woman, he would be more than just disappointed with his pupil. He would be unforgiving. He would relay just how far she’s fallen from his teachings. No longer is she No One. Now, she carries a name that she isn’t sure she’s ready to bear and a responsibility to a people that are not hers.

A nearby grunt brought the Stark out of her musings. Slowly advancing to where she heard the sound, Arya made out a figure on their hands and knees.

“Fuckin’ trees. Got roots like legs, tripping everything in sight. How the fuck is a man supposed to get around?” Through the occasional hiccup, a bearded man slurred out.

Not yet noticing the she-wolf, he continued, “If I…If I were on my damn ship, I wouldn’t have to worry about fucking trees.” After much exertion, he managed to get back on his feet.

Squinting in the dark, Arya noticed the kraken sigil of Euron’s Iron Fleet on the man’s leather chest piece. The man who had apparently had one too many tankards of ale. Where there was one, more would be soon to follow. Surely, Euron’s encampment couldn’t be too far. She took a few seconds to decide how she would proceed before moving in on him. She gathered her cloak in tight around her front, so that it would cover her sword and dagger from prying eyes.

Taking on a more unassuming stance, she made her presence known, “Excuse me, sir.”

Startled, the man jerked around, fists cocked for a fight, “The fuck are you doing ‘ere?”

“I-I’m lost actually. S-sort of.” Arya stuttered out innocently, “You see, I was riding my horse and it got startled and bucked me. I tried to take a short cut back home, since it was later than I expected when I left, but you can see how much good that did me.” She gestured to herself as proof.

The stranger lowered his arms and stumbled over, “And what do you think I’m gonna do? Help you?” He let out a booming laugh from his gut, “First a dragon and now a little girl in these woods?” He pulled out a waterskin that was tied to his belt and shook it, “Either someone spiked my good ale, or there’s somethin’ hauntin’ this forest.”

The she-wolf squinted at him, projecting a false sense of disbelief, “Dragon? You saw a dragon?”

“Sure as I stand on solid fuckin’ ground,” He nodded sloppily.

In exaggerated wonder, the assassin led the man into her trap, “That’s extraordinary! Imagine what your friends would call you if you told them…” She left her sentence hanging, encouraging the man to give his name.

“Rognar,” The stranger provided, chest puffed out in pride.

“Rognar the Dragon Finder,” Arya proposed, hands spread wide in a showy display.

Rognar let out a deep chuckle, “That sure is somethin’, ‘innit?”

Laying the final foundation for her plan, the she-wolf questioned, “Rognar, you know why I’m out here all by myself, but why are you? It could be dangerous to wander alone when there’s a dragon about.”

The bearded man grinned, presenting his many missing teeth, “Little lass, I’m not alone. I’ve got my brothers of the Iron Fleet with me.” He pounded a fist on his chest, “And I’m an Ironborn, we fear no beast, of water or land.” His brief speech might have been impressive if he wasn’t wobbling at every slight breeze due to his inebriated state.

Pushing her luck, Arya further inquired with a child-like curiosity, “The Iron Fleet? Wow. Do you think I could stay with you guys for the night? It really wouldn’t do for me to stay out here by myself all night. I have no shelter, no way of travel.”

The Stark had a suspicion that if the Ironborn weren’t so drunk, he might not have been so receptive to such a request. Luckily, he must have drank more than she originally thought, as he answered positively.

“I guess so. It wouldn’t right do for a pretty little thing such as yourself to be left out here,” His jolly demeaner transformed and his smile turned lecherous. “We’re set up just east of here, I can take you there. We’ve got food, fire, and plenty of drink.”

As a Faceless Man, Arya had encountered more than her fair share of foul individuals, and this time was no different. She smiled humbly before making her move.

In a flash, she had unsheathed her Valyrian dagger and slashed the blade across Rognar’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged in pain and shock. Her slice was deliberate and precise, causing blood to surge urgently from his neck. Within seconds, the Ironborn’s body fell limply to the forest floor.

Adeptly, the assassin went about removing the man’s face and armor. After years of experience, she was prompt with the process. Just as she was finishing her work, she heard her name being called in a whisper-shout.

“Arya! Where are you?”

It was Daenerys. And by the sound of it, she was getting closer. The she-wolf had no way of disguising her actions. Her gloves were bloodied and there was a defaced corpse laying at her feet.

Making her way past another tree, the Targaryen finally came into view. At seeing her companion, the platinum haired woman released a gasp, “Arya? What…what happened?”

“I know where Yara is. Or at least where the Iron Fleet is,” The Stark answered coolly. Gathering Rognar’s things in her arms, Arya walked past the royal and made back towards their camp. Baffled by the scene, Daenerys delayed before rushing to catch up with the other woman.

“What do you mean? And why are you covered in blood? And why is there a dead man with a mangled face on the ground?” The dragon queen barraged her with questions.

Both women’s minds were running a mile a minute at the current predicament. Arya in anxiety over being caught and Daenerys in alarm at the gruesome turn of events. Although, you wouldn’t know the assassin was ruffled in any way based on her behavior.

The she-wolf spoke directly and to the point as they walked, “What matters is that I found out where their outpost is and how to get in, so we can head back to Winterfell now.” She turned her head to the Targaryen as she asked, “Has Drogon returned yet?”

Blinking away her disorientation at the seemingly unrelated question, Daenerys replied, “Yes, he just got back before I came looking for you.”

“Good,” Arya nodded curtly, “Then we can leave now, if you are able.”

“What about Theon?”

“What about him?” Arya asked with a sour expression.

Exasperatedly, the dragon queen elaborated, “We can’t just leave him here, Arya. And Drogon definitely won’t let him ride with us.”

Growing quiet as they continued towards the camp, the Stark thought for a moment before deciding, “We can leave the rest of our rations and supplies with him. We packed for another two days. We probably won’t get back to Winterfell until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll brief the rescue party once we get there and then I’ll travel with them back here. He can make do with what we brought until the group arrives.” Furthering her train of thought, she proposed, “And if he’s here, he could be our lookout to make sure that the Iron Fleet doesn’t relocate or if there’s any activity out of the ordinary.” Nodding gruffly to herself, Arya found the plan to be satisfactory.

“Arya! Can you…can we just hold for a moment?” The Targaryen monarch threw her arm out in front of the other woman, bringing them to a physical halt. “I feel like this is all moving too fast. We haven’t even addressed the dead man back there, or the clothes that you deemed appropriate to loot off of a corpse!”

“You said it yourself, this is war,” steel-gray eyes narrowed in challenge. “We don’t have time for this. You wanted results, and I got them. Now let’s go.”

Daenerys recoiled at Arya’s words, jarred by her complete change in character. Her current cold and callous attitude didn’t align with any of her past behavior. Where was the girl that studied Drogon in wonder? Or the woman who so effortlessly loved her siblings with a fierce protectiveness? The Stark that the common folk regarded with a deep loyalty?

Disconnecting herself from the utter confusion that she felt, the Targaryen monarch set her royal mask of indifference in place, “Yes, let us go then. The sooner we deal with the Night King, the sooner I can leave the north to focus on the war that really matters.”

Arya, although her countenance on the outside never wavered, found herself feeling oddly unbalanced after the other woman’s statement.

It appeared that neither Stark nor Targaryen had learned everything that there was to know of one another.


	8. oh, my poor bones (rearrange them to fit your mold)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark and Targaryen return to Winterfell, only for things to escalate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between not having the time to sit down and write and having major writer's block, this chapter was more than a little difficult for me to hash out. I'm sorry guys and I'll try to keep up on updates better. Know that I am still 100% invested in this work though! Enjoy and let me know what you think pals!
> 
> Title comes from Anyone Else by PVRIS

Arya briefed Theon of the plan and the part that he would play before the women made their departure. He accepted the responsibility graciously, eager to help his sister in any manner that he could.

The trip back to Winterfell was riddled with more tense silence than the two royals had ever endured between each other. Daenerys inquired no further of the Stark’s previous activities and Arya made no attempts to offer up an explanation for what the other woman saw.

Their terse aversion was broken briefly once they returned to Winterfell. In a similar fashion to the day before, Arya dismounted Drogon first and silently offered her hand out to help her traveling companion down as well. The Targaryen hadn’t expected such courtesy after the flight they just had. With an inquisitive look, Daenerys made to accept the gesture. Hands outstretched to one another, the two’s attention were snatched away when one of the Stark’s grizzly bannermen marched over to receive them.

“Lady Arya, Your Highness,” the man bowed his head at the women respectfully. He turned to the Stark, “Lady Sansa demands you and Lady Brienne’s presence in her quarters at once,” and then he spoke to Daenerys, “Your Majesty, you have a visitor waiting to speak with you in the dining hall.”

Daenerys didn’t want to separate from Arya, especially under the current conditions, but they both had duties to perform and responsibilities to attend to. Nodding, both to herself and the northern soldier, the Targaryen regally responded, “Thank you, you may go.” She turned to the she-wolf once they were alone again, “It appears that we are both needed elsewhere.”

Arya stood tall with her hands behind her back as she said, “The dead never rest and apparently neither do we.”

Amethyst eyes shown with amusement before clouding in concern again, “Arya…I think we should talk.”

“Daenerys…” Arya sighed out.

The platinum haired woman stepped closer to the she-wolf, trying to explain herself, “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I enjoy your company. More than anyone else I’ve met here.” She reached out and tugged at the other woman’s arm until she could loosely grasp it between them. “And I know there’s a lot that we don’t know about each other. But, so far, you’ve been nothing but honest with me. None of that has to change. Just let me in, explain it to me.”

“If I could, I would, but I…I can’t Daenerys,” Arya replied, eyes downcast. She looked just as disappointed in the turn of events as the monarch did. “I want to tell you, but…this is something I haven’t explained to anyone. It’s not really the type of thing to encourage long lasting relationships.” Arya moved the arm that wasn’t being held to place her hand on the other woman’s shoulder, “Some secrets are better left alone. This one is mine.” There was a war of emotions raging within the depths of her gray, storm-colored eyes. “I like you Daenerys, a lot. It’s hard for me to have faith in people, but I do with you. I have faith in your cause and who you are. You’re the Breaker of Chains. You fight for the freedom of a people who are hardly ever heard, and if that’s not a fight worth fighting, I don’t know what is.”

The Targaryen hadn’t expected such passionate words from the young Stark, and although she appreciated them, they still didn’t appease her request. She tightened her hold on Arya’s arm with the intent of making her focus, “Many speak honeyed words to distract from their dishonesty. Do not take me for a fool, Wolf. I’ve dealt with every nature of diplomat and politician that there is to see, I know a deflection when I see one. What keeps you from being honest with me now? Why can you not explain to me what happened between you and that man in the forest?”

“Your Grace,” Arya cut her off sharply, “Do not confuse my honesty for naivety. I am not my brother.”

“And your brother? Does he know of your so-called secret?” Daenerys was undeterred.

Pulling away from the dragon queen, the she-wolf quietly declared, “Enough.” She let out a sharp whistle and soon Nymeria came trotting out from the nearby treeline towards her owner. “We all have secrets, Your Highness. I know the pain that mine would bring to those I care about, so I will bear them on my own for as long as I live.” Both women looked pained by the turn of this conversation. “I told you, we are all responsible for the choices we make and whatever the consequences may be.”

Daenerys wanted to argue further, she wanted to smooth things over, she wanted to make the woman feel as unwanted as she had by her words. She knew that bringing up the issue again would only make things worse, but she wanted, _needed _, to know. Her allies were limited here and she needed to know that they were trustworthy. More than that, she wanted to be the kind of person that Arya would be open with. She felt a kinship with the she-wolf that she had rarely felt in her life before.__

__

__Regardless, the Targaryen ruler let the Stark and her direwolf walk away. She took a moment to collect herself and called for one of her Dothraki. “You there! Ensure that Drogon is fed and properly rested from our trip.” The man nodded and mumbled in assent as the platinum haired woman passed him briskly towards Winterfell’s keep, with the intention of meeting with her visitor._ _

__\---------------------------------------------------------_ _

__Daenerys entered the keep with Missandei hot on her heels. Her friend was quick to accompany her once she noticed her arrival._ _

__

__“Your Grace, you might want to wait before seeing to your visitor. I wouldn’t want you to be upset by the surprise,” Missandei reasoned._ _

__

__The Targaryen cut her off and waved her hand dismissively, “I’m sure that I can handle whoever it is.”_ _

__

__The two rounded the corridor and abruptly opened the heavy oak doors that led to the dining hall. All of the room’s occupants, which included Grey Worm, Tyrion, and a number of the noble lords, turned towards the sudden entrance._ _

__

__There, standing next to a heavy-set man in a robe and a woman cradling an infant, was Jorah Mormont. Daenerys released a gasp at the unexpected guest._ _

__

__“Khaleesi,” the old knight breathed out._ _

__

__Violet eyes hardened in a flash, “Am I to believe that you are cured?”_ _

__

__At that, the man standing next to Jorah spoke up, “Um, Y-Your Grace, if you’re speaking of the grayscale, then yes. He is healed, I believe. I-I mean, I know. I performed the procedure myself.”_ _

__

__Daenerys turned to the stranger with interest, “And who might you be?”_ _

__

__“S-Samwell Tarly. Of the Tarly family of Horn Hill, Your Grace,” he stuttered out nervously._ _

__

__The Targaryen ruler’s face morphed in apprehension. Luckily, the man, Sam, was anxiously avoiding eye contact, so he didn’t see the sudden change. Missandei picked up on it, if her concerned glance was any indication._ _

__

__Stepping forward, Jorah clarified, “Khaleesi, this man saved my life. Because of him, I am ready and able to fight by your side again. Against whatever threatens your reign, be it Lannisters or white walkers.”_ _

__

__Disregarding the churning in her gut at the news of a remaining Tarly, Daenerys plastered on a smile and turned to the Mormont, “Jorah, that is great news.” She wrapped the man in a tight embrace, “It’s good to have you back.”_ _

__

__The old knight reciprocated the gesture, “It’s good to _be _back.”___ _

___ _

___The doors to the dining hall opened again as Sansa, Arya, Bran, Brienne, and a man with half of his face covered in intense burn scars came into the room. Daenerys hadn’t gotten the chance to remove herself from the embrace she was in and Jorah seemed reluctant to release her just yet. It was subtle, but Arya’s face exhibited a distaste at the display from where she was pushing Bran’s wheelchair from behind. Her nose crinkled and her eyebrows scrunched up for a mere second before her mask of indifference was restored, but Daenerys caught it just the same._ _ _

___ _

___“We’re sorry to intrude, but we have an update on Jon and Tormund’s endeavors,” Sansa supplied, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “This is Sandor Clegane, who you might better know as The Hound.” The auburn royal gestured for the scarred man to speak._ _ _

___ _

___“Guess I’m talking then,” the fearsome man grumbled. “I was traveling with Beric Dondarrion’s motley crew of fire boys after this bitch almost killed me,” he glared disdainfully at Brienne before continuing, “and that little wolf left me to die,” he then nodded his head in Arya’s direction. Brienne gave him a withering look and mumbled an offhanded “brute” under her breath. The young Stark didn’t even dignify him with any sort of acknowledgement._ _ _

___ _

___Sansa breezed past the shared history effortlessly, “Tell them where Beric is now.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Well, you know that guy, always on some sort of quest. I hate his type. He said that the Lord of Light-” The Hound stopped mid speech to roll his eyes, “showed him a vision in the flames and that Jon Snow would need help. Said that he saw him trapped on a frozen lake, surrounded by walkers. So, he’s on his way to The Wall to meet up with Jon. I decided to take a detour here to inform you all, where there would be shelter and ale and hopefully less of the living dead.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Beric’s vision rings true. I saw it as well, but not as clearly. It was more of an echo in my dreams instead of a distinct image like Beric’s,” Bran added._ _ _

___ _

___Tyrion piped in, “Not that I doubt the power that this Beric and his Lord of Light possess, but do you really think he and his men will be enough aid for Jon’s group? What if the Night King shows up? Shouldn’t we provide more support?”_ _ _

___ _

___“Bran, what do you think?” Sansa questioned._ _ _

___ _

___The boy turned to his sister, eyes looking beyond her and face expressionless, “He’ll need more than just Beric if he wants to succeed, but, even if we sent out our fastest riders on horseback right now, they wouldn’t get there in time. Beric might not even make it.”_ _ _

___ _

___“What in the seven hells did he even go there for, then?” The Hound asked rhetorically, tone infused with anger and frustration._ _ _

___ _

___Daenerys entered the conversation, providing a solution, “Horses might not be fast enough, but my dragons are, surely.” Unperturbed by the possible threat of the white walkers, the Targaryen proceeded, “Even the dead should be scared of three fire-breathing dragons.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Why does it feel like we keep having this conversation?” Tyrion started exasperatedly. “You would be putting yourself directly in the line of danger, Your Grace. Why would we have you confront the greatest threat the seven kingdoms have ever seen without your army? That’s just suicide. We have no idea what kind of threat the Night King poses. For all you know, this could be a trap! I’m sure he relies on old magic, like the kind that can inspire visions and dreams.”_ _ _

___ _

___Jorah also cut in, “For once, I agree with the imp. We need you Khaleesi. The last place you should be is beyond The Wall.”_ _ _

___ _

___The room went quiet as Daenerys weighed the words of her most trusted advisors._ _ _

___ _

___Surprisingly, it was Sansa who broke through the silence, “Daenerys,” she looked the monarch right in the eye, “Do what you think is best, whether that means staying here or going to Jon.”_ _ _

___ _

___The Targaryen couldn’t detect a single trace of malice or derision in the auburn Stark’s tone, for once. Nodding in acknowledgement and appreciation of the other woman’s statement, Daenerys made her decision. “I will go beyond The Wall to help Jon. If what Bran and this Beric fellow say is true, they could use the force of three dragons. We need Jon to succeed so that we can prove to Cersei just how dire things are. All of Westeros is at stake. If that means putting myself in harm’s way, so be it.” The platinum haired woman locked eyes with Arya over Bran’s head, “We are all responsible for the choices we make and the consequences that ensue.”_ _ _

___ _

___The she-wolf offered an unsteady tilt of her head, clearly torn at the circumstances, even if she tried her best not to outwardly show it._ _ _

___ _

___“Thank you, Daenerys. It means a lot, what you’re doing,” Sansa offered earnestly. The two noblewomen bowed their heads respectfully at one another._ _ _

___ _

___Arya fidgeted uncomfortably, like her body was suffering for every second it wasn’t actively doing something productive. “Brienne and I should leave soon if we plan on making it back to Euron’s hideout before Theon runs out of supplies,” she reminded unsurely._ _ _

___ _

___“We should,” Brienne supported and glanced questioningly at Sansa._ _ _

___ _

___“It is probably best that you do. Remember: stealth is key to this rescue mission. Be silent, be quick, and try to avoid as much bloodshed as possible. If we are to gain any semblance of a truce with Cersei, we can’t have her knowing that we’re freeing captives from her allies,” Sansa forewarned._ _ _

___ _

___“Euron? As in Euron Greyjoy? I’ve always wondered what fighting an Ironborn would be like. I’ve heard they’re tough bastards,” The Hound inputted._ _ _

___ _

___“Unfortunately, if you were listening to anything Lady Stark just said, this mission requires tact, which you clearly lack,” Brienne dismissed the hulking man imperiously._ _ _

___ _

___Sansa stepped between the two fighters, “Maybe it would be beneficial for Sandor to accompany you and Arya. Ignoring your past, he is adept with a sword and I can only send so few bannermen with you. We don’t have the resources for me to keep sending men out of Winterfell’s gates.”_ _ _

___ _

___“We understand,” Arya stated resolutely._ _ _

___ _

___“We do?” Brienne and The Hound both asked incredulously._ _ _

___ _

___In favor of finishing this conversation, Arya ignored her two travel companions and clarified to her sister, “We will meet at the stables and prepare our horses. As soon as they’re all saddled up, we will ride and I will lead us to regroup with Theon. The faster we deal with Yara, the better.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Agreed.” Sansa gave her approval and Arya exited the dining hall along with Brienne and The Hound, who both bickered the entire way out._ _ _

___ _

___The she-wolf was only a few paces out into the corridor when she heard her name called. Coming to a halt and searching over her shoulder, she saw Daenerys lingering outside the doors leading to the hall. Hesitantly, Arya turned around and walked back towards the royal._ _ _

___ _

___“I know that we’re not separating on the best of terms, but I…I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I had no right to push you to tell me your secrets like I did earlier. You were right. Although I might not agree with the means, you did provide us with Euron’s location, which we desperately needed. So…thank you Arya.”_ _ _

___ _

___Arya blankly stared at the platinum monarch, her mouth gaping slightly, “I, um, I should apologize too. I shouldn’t have lost my temper the way I did with you. It’s not your fault that I have a lot going on in here,” the Stark tapped at her temple with her finger, “that I don’t know how to explain. I’ve never been good with words. Sansa’s always been the eloquent one.”_ _ _

___ _

___Daenerys smiled softly, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”_ _ _

___ _

___“I do want to tell you, if it makes a difference. I just don’t know that I can…or that I should,” Arya explained miserably. “It’s not the kind of thing you just tell and forget. It breeds hate.”_ _ _

___ _

___Violet eyes intensely tracked the she-wolf’s every movement and mannerism. Seeing the struggle and uncertainty weighing down the dark-haired woman’s features, Daenerys raised her hand to lightly rest against Arya’s jaw._ _ _

___ _

___“You, Arya Stark, are not the kind of person I could ever see myself hating. Quite the opposite actually.”_ _ _

___ _

___The she-wolf’s cheeks dusted light pink at the Targaryen’s attention. Shrugging her shoulders, Arya weakly refuted, “You say that now…”_ _ _

___ _

___Softly, but firmly, Daenerys reasoned, “Why don’t you stop predicting how I will feel and act and let me decide for myself? I raised three dragons, led a Dothraki horde across the ocean, and managed to free an entire army of Unsullied from their master’s chains. I think I’m a little more open-minded than you believe.” Rising on her tiptoes, Daenerys planted a brief but sweet kiss to the apple of Arya’s cheek. The she-wolf gulped loudly. “Just think about it,” the Targaryen advised before moving to return to the dining hall._ _ _

___ _

___Arya grabbed the other woman’s hand in her own, halting her retreat, “Thank you Daenerys.”_ _ _

___ _

___“What for?” The amethyst-eyed woman tilted her head in puzzlement._ _ _

___ _

___“For volunteering to save Jon. For coming to Winterfell. For listening to me even when I make no sense. For everything, really.” Arya let out a shaky breath, fighting her embarrassment at the vulnerability in her voice._ _ _

___ _

___Knowing smile in place, Daenerys calmly said, “Maybe we came into each other’s lives at the perfect time, when we both need one another.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Maybe,” Arya affirmed, all while trying to tamper the blinding grin threatening to break across her face._ _ _


	9. i’ve learned that doves and ravens fly the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara's rescue mission is in full force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter my dudes, so hopefully it's not too daunting to all of you. I promise to get back to the Arya-Dany interactions in the next chapter, I just gotta give you guys a little angst first lol.
> 
> Title credit goes to Glory by Dermot Kennedy (I love the lyrics used for this title because I think they fit Arya perfectly. People like her siblings want to remember her as the little girl, innocent like a dove, that they grew up with and not the trained killer, dark like a raven, that she has become.)

“Got any ale on you, girl?”

Arya cut her eyes sideways towards the husky man she once left to die and shook her head minutely.

Heaving out a longsuffering sigh, The Hound complained, “Dammit, none at all? Even priests indulge more than you.”

“Are we that bad of company? So much so that you have to test the limits of sobriety to endure our presence?” Smirking haughtily, Brienne tried to further agitate the man.

“Aye, keep it up and I might need something stronger,” He shot back. “Are we close to the camp yet? My legs are sore from sitting on this damn horse for so long.”

Scoffing, Brienne replied, “You complain as much as a child. In fact, a child might make for a better riding companion than you. At least they’d possess better grooming habits and wouldn’t have a penchant for foul language.”

The Hound began to protest, “Coming from the woman who-”

“Shh!”

Arya had interrupted the two’s bickering with a demand for silence before abruptly tugging at her horse’s reigns to bring the riding party to a halt. She had been leading the envoy for the journey so far, since she was the only one with the knowledge of Theon’s last whereabouts and Euron’s hideout location. Brienne, The Hound, and four of the Stark bannermen accompanied the she-wolf, following her lead closely behind on horseback. Wanting to draw the least amount of attention, none brandished the direwolf house sigil in hopes of not being found out. The quarrels of Sandor and Brienne made time pass a little faster. The one time one of the bannermen endeavored to voice his opinion on a topic of debate, he was immediately shutdown by both the Tarth woman and the burly, scarred man. As a result, the Stark soldiers mostly kept to themselves at the back of the group.

“What is it, Arya? Is something wrong?” The armored blonde inquired.

The Stark swiftly scanned their surroundings before answering, eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Something’s not right. I can feel it.”

Never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot, Sandor mocked, “Well if the lady has a ‘feeling’, we can’t ignore one of those.” Faking disappointment, he observed unhelpfully, “Too bad we didn’t bring your lapdog with us. We could have sent the little shit ahead of us to check if the coast was clear. If it wasn’t and he got himself killed, well, no harm done.”

“Lapdog…? Are you referring to Podrick?” Brienne questioned, face scrunched in both appalment and bewilderment.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know his name?” The Hound appeared offended. “Not like he’s my pet.”

Speaking in a sharp whisper, Arya caught the pair’s attention again, “Enough. I thought I told you two to be quiet.”

Like most of her movements, the she-wolf dismounted from her horse smoothly and silently. She pulled the dark black steed by its reigns to a nearby tree and tied it down with a loose knot. She grabbed her bag containing Rognar’s things and hastily swung it over her shoulder. For her plan to work, she needed the belongings of the dead sailor of the Iron Fleet. Not even checking to see if her group made to follow her, she began to advance forward on foot.

“Girl! What are you doing? Are we really just going to leave the horses here?” The Hound was more than a little displeased with this course of action.

Unlike her counterpart, Brienne trusted the Stark implicitly. Wordlessly, she mirrored the young woman, leaving her own chestnut horse tied on a tree right next to Arya’s. Unsheathing Oathkeeper, Brienne quietly caught up to the she-wolf. After seeing the blonde take initiative, the bannermen did the same.

The Hound, being the only one still stationary on his horse, let out an angry huff, “What a great idea. Let’s leave the horses in the middle of the woods and just wander off into the trees.” Although begrudgingly, he did so too.

Arya’s intuition proved to be invaluable. The group progressed further into the forest and came across the make-shift campsite that Arya and Daenerys had last left Theon at. It was empty. After checking that there was no one lying in wait to ambush them, the party of seven started to investigate.

“The fire pit’s ashes are settled and cold, there hasn’t been an active flame going for some time,” Brienne observed.

Picking up some leftover dried meat from a satchel on the ground, The Hound spoke up, “Clearly your friend doesn’t know shit about survival. He left his food just sitting out here. Any scavenger could take it, man or animal.” Naturally, he then took a large bite out of some of the jerky and proceeded to chew as loudly as possible.

Arya ignored her once-captor and continued to look around, not saying a word.

“Lady Stark, you might want to have a look at this,” one of the bannermen called out anxiously.

The she-wolf followed his line of sight. Not too far from the site, the base of a tree was covered in something. From a distance, it could be overlooked as tree sap. It was similar in color, and upon further inspection, it was sticky as well. Arya leaned forward and swept her hand over the suspicious stain. As she pulled away, she rubbed her fingertips together and studied the substance.

Rising to her full height, Arya turned to the others, “Blood,” And she raised her tainted fingers as proof.

“Of fuckin’ course,” The Hound groaned out, rolling his eyes and throwing what was left of the dried meat to the ground.

Brienne came up next to Winterfell’s royal and asked with concern, “Blood? Do you think it could be Theon’s?”

Nodding stiffly, the she-wolf answered, “Could be. And I’d bet all my silver that I know where he is.”

Without elaborating, Arya picked up the pace again, walking eastward. Her entourage trailed close behind. It wasn’t long before they came across a gated outpost. It wasn’t anything spectacular, certainly not the kind of place one would expect to be harboring one of the last living heirs to the Iron Islands. Being in a forest, it was no surprise that the barrier surrounding the place was made up of chopped down trees that were driven into the ground like stakes, maneuvered one after the other to make a sturdy privacy wall. There were only two points of entry, the main gate along the front wall, and a second, smaller one on the back right. Both were being guarded by members of the Iron Fleet. Their kraken adorned armor made their association with Euron obvious.

Now that Arya had found the place, it was time for her to go forward with her plan. But first, she needed to separate herself from the rest of the group.

“I’ll need two of you to stay back out here as lookouts, one for each gate. You’ll also be in charge of gathering the horses in case we need to make an immediate escape,” Arya started, speaking to the Stark bannermen. “I’ll need the other two to accompany Brienne, who will be focused on locating and rescuing Yara.” Brienne tilted her head in agreement with the she-wolf’s directions. “Since there’s been a change in plans, I’ll focus on getting to Theon.”

“We don’t even know if the twat’s in there,” The Hound gestured aggressively at the base, sounding put out. “And what in the seven hells am I supposed to be doing?”

Impatient and frustrated at the delay, Arya snapped, “He’s in there, I’m sure of it.” A mischievous smirk overtook her features, “And you, Sandor, will be the distraction.”

Squinting down at her, he questioned uncertainly, “Distraction?”

“How else are we supposed to get in? Just go over there to the main gate and say something about having never fought an Ironborn. They love to fight.” Arya added as an afterthought, “Be sure to make it a challenge about pride, the islanders eat that up.”

The Hound gaped at the young Stark, “I’m supposed to take a shiner for some Greyjoy royals I’ve never even met?”

“If you’re as good in a fight as you say, you shouldn’t look too bad after we’re done here,” Brienne taunted, smiling all the while.

Eager to get on with it, Arya patted the man’s shoulder and moved past him, towards the outpost. “Get a move on! I’m going to see if I can find my own way in.”

Brienne, concern etched into her brow, reached out to stop her and whispered, “Are you sure that’s wise, Arya?”

Placating her friend, the she-wolf reassured, “I’ll be fine Brienne, trust me. I’m innovative.” She offered the blonde a quick smile as the group separated to perform their tasks.

Arya was weaving her way through the cover of the trees that riddled the space just outside the left wall of the outpost when she heard an uproar. Smirking to herself, she assumed that The Hound must’ve introduced himself to the sailors by the sound of things. She was nearly a quarter of the way down when she noticed a hole at the base of the structure. She realized that the hole was purposefully constructed to allow for drainage from the camp. This was likely the spot that all the waste flowed out from. It wasn’t the most glorious of entrances, but it would have to do.

Ensuring that no one else could see her, Arya removed her disguise from the bag slung across her shoulder. Expertly, she donned Rognar’s leather jerkin as well as his face. Stealth was vital to this mission, which is exactly what her skills produced.

Walking over to the roughly cut hole, the she-wolf was able to squeeze through with minor struggle. Once inside the camp, she glanced at her surroundings, hoping to locate the area the prisoners were being held. The outpost was mostly filled with tents, but there were a couple of structures that barely passed for actual buildings. There was an old log house that appeared to have been there long before Euron’s men ever came to occupy this area. There was a guard positioned just outside its door. He was an ox of a man, and his tattoos were on full display due to his sleeveless armor. Further beyond, there was a weakly constructed hut. It looked like one strong wind could send the whole thing toppling over.

Arya made a beeline for the hut, thinking that it would be as good a place to start her search as any. Without wanting to arise any suspicion, she walked languidly, as if she was in no rush. She purposely made her footfalls heavy and swung her arms in wide arcs as she moved, like an Ironborn. It was a relaxed but self-assured gait. She had nearly made it to the hut before her path was obstructed.

“Rognar! Where ya been hidin’ ya son of a bitch? Haggen and I ‘ave been lookin’ for you for days!” One of the Iron Islanders came up to Arya. His breath smelled something awful, which the she-wolf couldn’t avoid with him standing so close. His blonde beard was braided in different spots, but not consistently. The man’s bloodshot eyes gave away his recent merriments.

He teetered even closer and clapped a hand on Arya’s back, “C’mon, I heard there’s a brawl goin’ on at the gate!” The sailor then started to lead his supposed friend back towards the front gate. “This time I’m gonna bet you for all you’re worth! Not that that’s sayin’ much,” He exclaimed with raucous laughter.

“Oi, ya daft? I can’t! Cap’n Greyjoy’s got me playin’ errand boy,” Arya responded bitterly and in-character.

“What’s that?” the other man asked curiously.

“Says I’ve gotta check up on his nephew, make sure he’s gotten a warm welcome.” Arya knew that she was taking a risk, but she was sure that Theon was here.

Thankfully, her gamble proved worth it when the Ironborn confirmed her suspicions, “That right? Why we even got that scrawny runt? We already got the girl, it’s not like we need him.”

Arya just shrugged, “Beats the hell outta me. But the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of these fuckin’ woods and onto the open sea.”

“And what a day it’ll be. The spray of the ocean and the taste of salt air on your tongue,” the blonde-haired sailor agreed, nostalgia lacing his words.

“You a fuckin’ poet or an Ironborn?” Arya mocked as she shoved the guy away and continued her pursuit to find Theon. It was a relief that her years of training with the faceless men had made her able to blend in so seamlessly. The blonde sailor was none the wiser as he walked away happily to continue his revelries.

Surprisingly, the hut wasn’t guarded, but as soon as Arya opened the door, she saw a figure shackled and chained to the floor. Sure enough, the prisoner was Theon Greyjoy. It seemed that Euron had bigger priorities for his crew than the supervision of his nephew.

Arya moved in closer to the red-headed man, hoping to assess his conditions. He was battered and bruised, clearly having put up a struggle before being detained. The she-wolf couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or if he was just too tired to fight anymore, because Theon had hardly moved since Arya entered the hut. She stepped even closer, studying the man.

Suddenly, Theon leapt at her. She thought the shackles’ chain was shorter and that he wouldn’t be able to reach her, but she thought wrong. Caught off guard, Arya wasn’t prepared when the Greyjoy managed to get his arms around her head. He turned her around violently and pressed the shackles as tightly to her neck as he could, attempting to choke her. Struggling for breath, Arya kicked her left foot back into his knee as hard as she could. Already weak from previous fights, Theon collapsed to the ground easily, but not without taking the Stark down with him. The two rolled around on the floor, shoving and punching at one another.

Finally, Arya was able to get the upper hand. She had to use all of her weight to keep him lying on the ground. Through heavy breaths, the she-wolf explained, “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to get you out.”

Theon, stubborn and still itching to fight, answered, “Fuck off! You think I’m gonna fall for my Uncle’s stupid tricks? Think I’m gonna believe the words if they come from some traitorous crew mate, is that it? He’s gotta play mind games, huh?”

“No. Theon, that’s not what this is!” Arya exclaimed, exasperated.

The Greyjoy jerked sideways unexpectedly and made the she-wolf almost come crashing down. Instead, she just got a banged-up elbow in her efforts to catch herself.

Barely maintaining her position of control and in danger of losing it soon, Arya made a split-second decision. Reaching up, she pulled at the edge of the face that was not her own. In terror, Theon stared on as she unmasked herself to prove her true identity.

Her steel-gray eyes hardened as she spoke to him, “This does not leave this room. If you say a word, I will know and I won’t hesitate to kill you myself, Night King be damned.”

“Y-you’re…you’re a faceless man…?” He wondered aloud disbelievingly.

Arya swiftly rose up off the man, “Get up, we still need to find your sister.”

Theon bobbed his head up and down shakily, trembling in fear and confusion. He rose soon after, the chain of his binds clinking as he moved, “S-she’s in Euron’s quarters. T-the log house. He likes to keep her there so he can have an eye on her himself.”

Absentmindedly, Arya swiped at the blood that was coming from the split lip that Theon had gifted her with. “First we’ve got to get you out of those,” the Stark stated while observing his shackles. She pulled out her Valyrian dagger from her side and made quick work of releasing the restraints.

Theon looked on in awe, “H-how did you do that?”

“A little trick they taught me at the House of Black and White,” Arya explained offhandedly. “I’m going to put my disguise back on and we’re going to pretend that I’m escorting you.”

Mask back in place, the she-wolf roughly twisted the still wounded Greyjoy’s arms behind his back and began to walk him back outside. “Don’t say a word,” Arya ordered. The two made it to Euron’s quarters but had to deal with the guard at the door.

The giant of a man studied them before speaking, “And where do ya think you’re goin’?”

“Cap’n Greyjoy said he wants me to show this one to his sister.” She nodded at Theon, appearing unbothered. “Thinks it’ll be more persuasive in gettin’ that bitch to talk.”

The guard grinned from ear to ear, “Nothin’ a good beatin’ can’t fix. Let her see him all bruised like an old pear, then she’ll speak up. I’d love to help.”

“Beatin’ the shit outta this weasel sure sounds good, but Cap’n said only on his orders,” Arya attempted to discourage.

“When that ever stop you before, Rognar?” the guard scoffed.

“I guess you got a point there,” pushing Theon closer to the guard, she gave him the opportunity to land a hard punch to the Greyjoy’s gut. If not for her firm hold on him, Theon would’ve fallen to the ground in pain. Chuckling, the guard gestured for them to go on in.

As soon as the pair entered the log house and the door shut behind them, Arya checked the place for any other possible threats. When she found none, she released Theon, who immediately rubbed at his tender stomach. Arya removed her mask once again, hoping to avoid any confusion with the other Greyjoy sibling.

“Let’s find Yara and be done with this,” the Stark advised.

Theon nodded and the two began to search for the woman. They made it through the small kitchen and seating area before finding a door that led to the bedroom. There, caged like an animal, sat a haggard looking Yara. Her eyes were rimmed with dark half circles, attesting to just how exhausted the woman was. Her limbs had to be sore and cramped from disuse.

Distraught, her brother fell to his knees at the door of the cage, “Yara! What have they done to you?”

“Theon…? Is that really you? Are you really here?”

“I’m here, sister,” He answered with conviction, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I hate to break up this reunion, but we’ve really got to go before someone finds out what we’re doing,” Arya reminded them. She pushed Theon aside and pulled out her dagger to begin picking the lock to Yara’s cage. No sooner had she started when she heard the door to the cabin burst open. Arya’s hair stood on end and she quickly motioned for Theon to hide as she waited for the intruder to enter, dagger at the ready. The stomping of footsteps got closer and closer to the room and Arya’s grip on her blade’s hilt grew tighter and tighter. Just as she prepared to attack, the door swung open to reveal a disheveled Brienne.

“Arya! By the gods, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Brienne said, startled. “We don’t have much time. I had to knock out the guard at the door and it won’t be long before the others start to get suspicious. The soldiers and I can get you out through the side exit. It’s not far, but we have to hurry.”

“Theon’s right over there,” Arya informed her friend, “but I’m not sure that Yara will be able to walk on her own.” The Stark resumed her task, efficiently picking the lock to the cage. Theon jumped in to open the door and help his sister out. Draping one of her arms around his neck, Arya grabbed the other and did the same.

Brienne nodded at them, “Follow me then. There’s no time to lose.”

Just inside the doorway lied the unconscious body of the tattooed guard. The party of four made their way outside of the cabin, disregarding the man. Theon and Arya were practically dragging an almost unconscious Yara with the speed that they were moving at. The Tarth woman served as a watchful eye, looking out for any of Euron’s men. Fortunately for them and not so fortunately for Sandor, most of the crew were preoccupied at the front gate. Multiple challengers had deemed The Hound a worthy opponent and the onlookers were cheering at the sight.

The Stark bannermen flagged Brienne down from a few yards away. The group of four turned six then proceeded to the side gate. Nearly there, they stuttered in their steps when they heard a bark of a yell break through all the commotion.

“What in the seven hells is going on here?! And who the fuck is this cunt?”

It was a livid Euron who had pushed his way through the crowd to find a bloodied but still standing Hound in the center of it all.

Arya hesitated before telling the group, “Keep going. Now’s our only chance.”

“What about Clegane?” Brienne questioned.

“He’ll be fine. He’s been through worse, he’s fought you and lived,” Arya reasoned.

Again, the entourage pressed in on the side exit. The guard that was originally stationed at the gate was out cold and concealed by nearby brush. The two Stark soldiers went through the gate first, since they were leading, and Brienne followed on their heels. Finally, Theon, Yara, and Arya made their way out. It was a tight squeeze, with the three of them going through shoulder to shoulder, but they made it work.

Freedom was within their grasps.

“You there! Stop!”

A straggling crew member had noticed their retreat. Without hesitation, Arya handed Yara off to Brienne, “Go! Take those two and the bannermen and don’t look back. I’ll handle this guy and go help Sandor.”

Her tone was steady and firm, leaving no room for discussion. Brienne held her eyes for a moment before nodding briskly, “Be safe, little wolf.”

Arya turned and used her momentum to dodge the Ironborn that attempted to grab her. He wasn’t expecting such agility from the girl and was easily avoided. Ducking to the left, she swept a foot out to trip the man, but he kept his balance. She was sure that he would go down. His movements were heavy and strong. He swung his arm, bringing a powerful fist to the side of Arya’s body. She took the blow, wincing just the slightest, and faked a hit to the left. The sailor brought his arms up to defend himself, leaving his right side completely vulnerable. Seizing the advantage, Arya deftly weaved past his right and around behind him. She was quick, impossibly so. Following her sister’s orders, the she-wolf avoided bloodshed. She unsheathed her dagger and jammed the hilt of it into her enemy’s temple, causing him to crumple almost instantly. The Stark really needed to get to The Hound, so she left the crew mate’s body right where it fell.

Foreseeing that it might be wearing out its use, Arya placed Rognar’s face on for the last time and dragged herself to the front gate. Most wouldn’t seek out such danger, but Arya never was like most people. She shoved her way to the middle of the spectacle to find Sandor and Euron exchanging witty banter. From the looks of it, The Hound was ready to finish things with fists. Sensing the ensuing conflict, Arya intervened as Rognar.

“Cap’n! I’ll take care of this continent mutt! You shouldn’t bother with ‘em.”

Euron looked at his subordinate, eyes blazing with intensely gleeful insanity, “Rognar! Glad you could join us! And here I thought you abandoned your post!”

“’Course not Cap’n! Just drank and got a little lost. Everything looks the damn same here,” Arya added in a self-conscious chuckle for good measure.

“Aye, it does! But look here! We got ourselves a tough guy! They call him The Hound. Used to serve the Queen herself. It appears that he plans on fighting the whole damn fleet,” Euron laughed, gesturing at the Hound in amusement.

“I could show him what a real Ironborn can do,” Arya offered.

Laughing manically, Euron replied, “Ya know what Rognar? Why don’t you do just that. Go on, take him.”

Alarms were going off in the back of Arya’s head like church bells. This was too easy. Walking up to The Hound, the she-wolf grabbed his arm in a tight hold and whispered so that only he could hear, “When I give the signal, run.”

Ever the cynic, Sandor grumbled back, “Oh, so I won’t see it coming when you shoot me in the back with an arrow?”

“Shut up Sandor and do what I say.”

He must have seen something familiar in Arya’s disguise, because he closed his mouth abruptly, seemingly compliant.

Now addressing the crowd and the regicidal Greyjoy, Arya spoke grandly, “I’m gonna show you how to break in a dog, so watch carefully.” With the back of her hand, she slapped The Hound across the side of the head. “They gotta know who’s really in charge.”

Euron’s eyes tracked Arya’s every movement. It was clear that he was more focused on her than Sandor and she planned to utilize that.

“You don’t want ‘em thinkin’ they’re the master,” Arya continued and pulled on Sandor’s hair violently. He clenched his teeth in pain. Abruptly, she shoved him to the ground, closer to the edge of the crowd facing away from the main gate. Purposefully, she positioned herself between Euron and The Hound so that her body blocked the intruder out of the captain’s sight. She bent over Sandor. Under the guise of demeaning him further, Arya whispered into his ear, “Get ready.”

She looked over her shoulder at Euron, “But remember, you never wanna get too sure of yourself. You never know what kinda breed you’re dealin’ with. The bitch might get the upper hand if you’re not careful.”

In a flash, Arya lunged at Euron, dagger aimed for his heart. As soon as Sandor heard the beginnings of a fight, he rose to his feet and heaved himself bodily through the few remaining sailors between him and freedom. To his favor, most were focused on the friend-turned-foe, Rognar. The Hound only glanced back once, to see his unexpected savior being pushed to their knees and coughing up blood at the feet of Euron Greyjoy.


	10. i guess i'm scared of someone finding out that i'm inside out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's fate does not rest in her own hands this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bros! I am here to deliver you from the precipice of the most recent cliff hanger. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations. Funny enough, this has probably been my favorite chapter to write so far. This one's long and full of feels, so prepare yourselves buckaroos. As always, hit me up if you got any feedback!
> 
> Sidenote: I'm not re-writing the whole "saving Jon when he's stranded on the frozen lake" scene, so just assume it all went down exactly like in the show. Tragic, I know, but I don't have the energy to remake that part as well.
> 
> Title comes from Inside Out by Mokita

It was one of the more painful experiences that she had had to endure in her life; having the face of another forcibly removed from her own. It sent a searing agony tearing through her nerve endings. A pain like no other. Tales of the House of Black and White travelled far and wide, so it was no surprise that Euron was able to put two and two together. He was unnervingly aware for a madman. In a matter of hours, her most guarded secret had become common knowledge to the bedmate of her family’s worst enemy. It was anything but comforting.

To make matters worse, once Euron’s crew discovered what had become of their beloved Rognar, they had personally taken retribution into their own hands. A blow to the face here, a kick to the ribs there. It was no wonder that Arya was starting to see stars every time she closed her eyes, which was happening more and more. She couldn’t say how long she had been under the deranged Greyjoy’s care, or lack thereof. She drifted in and out of consciousness so often that her days were becoming a blur.

After having her weapons taken and being locked up in shackles, she had been hauled into the one room hut that Theon had previously occupied. During her first visit, Arya hadn’t really had the chance to study its meager accommodations, but now she had all the time in the world. Although the place usually remained rather dark, she noticed there were multiple holes in the straw-made roof, which became immense discomforts on the days that it rained. The various gaps allowed ice cold rainwater to trickle in all over, drenching the Stark. The walls were made of poorly stacked stones, the mud packed throughout them worn down easily by the elements. The combination of the biting gusts of air that seemed to infiltrate every crevice of the shack and the never-ending water flow from above left Arya’s lips blue and her teeth chattering. The cold dirt floor didn’t lend much to comfort either, especially during the nights.

Furnishing was sparse. There was a bucket nearby for the purpose of relieving one’s self. Instead, Arya had chosen to use it to catch some of the downpour that made it through the voids of thatch to collect drinking water. She knew that keeping hydrated would be one of her greatest and only assets. She might not be able to get three square meals a day, but she could certainly take advantage of what nature itself provided her with. Besides the pail, there was only a wooden stool placed just inside the entryway of the hut. It was poorly crafted, unevenly sanded down and one of the four legs was shorter than the others, causing it to wobble whenever anyone dared put their weight on it. The only time Arya witnessed anyone actually use it was the first and the last time Euron spoke to her.

The leader of the Iron Fleet had her restrained by shackles connected to the very same chain Theon was on originally. He had dragged the stool right up in front of where Arya was kneeling. At first, he was angry. Absolutely furious. Gnashing his teeth after every word. He couldn’t believe that his dear niece and nephew were snatched from right under his nose, from his own camp. But then he appeared impressed. He confessed that he knew from the start that Arya wasn’t Rognar when she intervened on The Hound’s behalf, informing her that he would never be awake and that sober so it had to be an imposter. Euron conceded that she almost had him fooled though, claiming her speech and mannerisms were eerily similar to his deceased crewmember. Arya hadn’t said a word the entire time. She knew it was better to wait, to listen. Just when she thought the man might leave, he said the most unexpected thing. With a blinding grin, he announced that he was happy that his prisoners had escaped, claiming that he loved a challenge.

That was the last time Arya had seen her captor. She had no idea what his plans for her were. For all she knew, he had forgotten about her. The she-wolf hadn’t seen another face in days. In the beginning, even when Euron never returned, the sailors of his fleet would pay her visits. They would take turns beating her. They would shout obscenities at her, all in the name of their dead brother in arms. Eventually, even they stopped dropping by. It was as if they were just waiting her out, waiting for her to die. She was starting to think they might even succeed. As a faceless man, she was taught not to fear death, but to respect it. And she would. If the many-faced god was ready for her, then she would go.

\--------------------------------------------------- 

Like most of her days went, Arya was lost to the whims of unconsciousness, that is, before she was shaken awake. Leaning over her, like a vassal of the gods themselves, was Daenerys Targaryen. The Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons. Arya was sure she was dreaming. What was the likelihood that she was actually looking into those captivating violet eyes? Her name being called brought her back to reality.

“Arya! We have to go!” The Targaryen exclaimed urgently, tugging on the she-wolf’s shoulder. “Brienne’s right behind me, we’re going to get you out of here.”

Weakly, Arya lifted her head to see the blonde warrior just beyond the monarch. She appeared tense, ready and able for a fight. The Stark wanted to call out to her, to tell her to get Daenerys to safety. When she opened her mouth, only a weak croak came out. After its extended time of disuse, it appeared that Arya’s voice wasn’t up to the task.

Cautiously, Daenerys began to help her rise off the ground. Hands stationed just under Arya’s armpits, the platinum haired woman attempted to lift her. Low on reserves, the Stark’s energy was depleted and she was of little assistance during the process. Both women nearly fell over at the unexpected dead weight of the she-wolf. Already exhausted, Arya was fighting to stay conscious as she heard Daenerys shout in a panic.

“I need help! I can’t lift her on my own!”

Effortlessly, Brienne approached Arya and cradled her up in her arms, like she weighed so little. The Stark would’ve opposed the maneuver if not for her current state. With Daenerys in tow, the three fled the hut immediately.

Barely resisting succumbing to the deep and dark depths of sleep, Arya was blinded by the glare of flames glinting off the reflective surface of Brienne’s armor. She also noticed the blanket of smoke infiltrating the air and her nostrils once outside. Beyond drained, the Stark’s head thumped against Brienne’s chest as her battle for cognizance was lost.

\---------------------------------------------------- 

The next time Arya opened her eyes, it was to the sight of sturdy wooden beams above her. Observing them, she noticed how familiar they looked. After taking a moment to orientate herself, she realized that she was staring at the ceiling of her room back in Winterfell. She exhaled deeply and moved her hand to feel the pelts blanketed on top of her. A quiet smile bloomed on her face as she felt the familiar fur of her direwolf. Glancing towards her hand, she saw Nymeria. Head resting on her paws, the wolf was laid out along her master’s right side, pressed in as close as she could be. Comforted by her companion’s presence, Arya reached out and stroked the animal’s head and scratched behind her ears. In response, Nymeria let out a low whine, as if sympathizing with the Stark’s current physical condition.

Arya was littered in scratches and bruises. Taking stock of her physical ailments, she noticed the sharp throbbing of her ribs. She guessed that a couple were probably cracked or broken. Slowly, she noticed the door to her chambers start to open. Not quite ready to handle any visitors, the she-wolf closed her eyes, feigning sleep.

She listened to soft footsteps cross the room before hearing the awkward scrape of a chair being pulled up to her bedside. There was the clink of something being set down on her bedside table. It wasn’t until a warm, wet cloth was gently being rubbed across her forehead and cheeks that she guessed that it was probably a bowl of clean water that was placed next to her. Nimble fingers ran through her hair until unruly locks were no longer obstructing the view of her face. In an effort to look as if she was just waking up, Arya fluttered her eyelids open before looking towards the unexpected guest.

It was Sansa, and she looked spent. Beyond the perfect posture and stunning gown that she wore, her visage was casted with a weariness that couldn’t be overlooked. The corners of her lips sagged in a weak frown. The whites of her eyes were tinted red, indicating either a lack of sleep or that she had cried recently. Regardless of the reason, it was a sight that left Arya feeling restless and unsteady. Sansa had become the rock of their house, sturdy and consistent for the most part. Seeing her in such a state urged Arya to reassure and comfort her in whatever way she could.

“Sansa, is everything alright?” The she-wolf’s words were raspy and feather-light, barely loud enough to be heard.

Her sister released a bitter laugh at the question, “Unbelievable. You nearly die and the first thing you do upon awaking is ask if _I _am alright? Little sister, you truly are a wonder.” Sansa’s brows had risen so high that her forehead was wrought with the creases of wrinkles.__

__

__Clearing her throat to be better heard, Arya tried to alleviate her sister’s concerns, “I’ve been through worse. I’m okay, I promise. A little bedrest and I’ll be good as new.”_ _

__

__“Worse? Okay? Gods Arya, are you blind? Nothing about this is okay! Look what they’ve done to you!” The auburn Stark aggressively gestured with a hand up and down the length of the body lying in front of her. “Your face is covered in scrapes. I had to change you into clean clothes myself, and I saw your sides. They’re black and blue all over. Arya-” Her voice broke, overcome with emotion._ _

__

__Stretching her arm out to join their hands, Arya barely contained a wince at the extension of her sore muscles as she softly whispered, “Sansa…” She was at a loss for what to say. Long before she ever left the walls of Winterfell, she struggled with sensitivity, especially for the sake of others. But now, seeing her sister break at the sight of her, she’d never felt more inept. All she wanted was to make things better, easier. But she lacked the skills to do so. The young Stark’s own distorted view of her self-worth often caused her to forget that others still cared about what happened to her._ _

__

__“You’re probably wondering how we managed to get you back here,” Sansa began, wiping at her eyes as she charged forward past the vulnerable moment. “You can thank the Targaryen for that.”_ _

__

__Arya tilted her head, undeniably intrigued at those words. If she were half the sister she should be, she wouldn’t let Sansa’s hurt go so shamelessly abandoned. She’d pursue the redhead’s thoughts and concerns. Disappointing herself and everyone else, undeniably so, the she-wolf latched onto the change of topic. Anything to escape the intensity of years of neglected emotions. Arya wasn’t entirely sure that she could even tap into the feelings necessary for such a conversation._ _

__

__Just as eager to move on, Sansa persisted, “Once we saw the quality of care that Euron extended to his own flesh and blood, we were ill to think of what he might’ve done to you. Emotional from her own loss, Daenerys suggested having her dragons torch Euron’s hideout so that they could get to you faster. If it weren’t for the situation and that it was you who was taken, I probably would’ve shot down such an idea. But we were desperate to get to you in time. Ser Jorah and Brienne were a big help as well. Sandor stayed behind, for obvious reasons. The flames would’ve done more harm than good if he went along. He wanted to, no matter what he says. You know how he is. We don't know if Euron escaped or if he burned with the majority of his crew, but we couldn’t find him.”_ _

__

__Arya had been intently listening to her sister’s recounting until voicing her concern, “Loss? Wait, what happened with Jon? Who didn’t make it?”_ _

__

__Sagely, Sansa inclined her head. “He’s here. Safe and sound for the most part. A couple cuts, but nothing close to your injuries. He was lucky. But the same cannot be said for his savior.”_ _

__

__Concerned, Arya nearly bolted upright at her sister’s last statement. The only thing keeping her reclined on the bed was the blinding pain that shot up her back and sides when she tried to arise._ _

__

__After Sansa made sure that her injured sibling was settled as comfortably as possible again, she clarified, “Daenerys herself is unharmed, but one of her dragons didn’t make it. From what I’ve been told, the Night King himself struck down the gold one, Viserion I think.”_ _

__

__Arya let out a heavy breath. “If a damn _dragon _can’t beat him, what in the seven hells could _we _possibly do?”_____ _

___ _

___Sansa shook her head, left wanting for an answer just as much as her familial counterpart. “Not long after Daenerys made it back with Jon, Brienne and the rest of your group returned with grave news.” The older sister paused, hesitating before finishing her retelling of events, “It wasn’t until Sandor spoke of a member of Euron’s crew saving him that Theon connected the dots for us.”_ _ _

___ _

___Like a snake coiled up who had been unexpectedly stirred from their slumber, long forgotten emotions of fear and trepidation violently surfaced within the she-wolf. In the past, whenever Arya struggled with such tumultuous whirlwinds of feelings, she was always able to keep her reactions internalized. Her mask of indifference never faltered, until now. At the sheer terror that her sister’s words evoked, Arya’s profile betrayed every stressful sensation that she was battling. It was overwhelming, feeling as if she had no control over her own body or her fate._ _ _

___ _

___“I’ll be the first to say I had my suspicions, but a faceless man? I never would have believed that my little sister had become a contracted killer.” Sansa laughed disbelievingly before wetting her lips, “I mean…there were times when it was almost like I was looking at a stranger, like when Little Finger…” The older sister trailed off, creating a tense lull in conversation._ _ _

___ _

___Arya steeled herself, readying for venomous rejection and hate. Her hands were curled into tight fists. So tight, that her nails were digging into her palms. Whatever her sister had to say, she deserved. She had killed more people than most do in their entire lives. She was a monster._ _ _

___ _

___Noticing the assassin’s tense posture, Sansa rested her hand on Arya’s arm. “To be honest, what you can do scares me a little. But I understand.” Ice-blue eyes focused on aversive gray ones. “Father always said, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. We were without our pack. It meant that we had to resort to things we would never do. Jon had to die at the hands of his own men. Bran had to become the Three Eyed Raven, whatever that means. We endured what we did so that we could be here. Together.”_ _ _

___ _

___Arya gulped audibly, surprised by her sister’s reaction. Her own eyes were glassy at the confession. The two sisters watched each other in silence, letting the words sink in._ _ _

___ _

___The creak of the room’s hefty wooden door broke the moment. A head of platinum hair poked through the threshold._ _ _

___ _

___“Lady Stark, I apologize. I hadn’t realized you were in here. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll leave you two alone,” Daenerys stepped back, intending to do just that._ _ _

___ _

___Sansa chuckled to herself before calling out, “Daenerys! Please come in. I was just about to leave. I have many things that need tending to and it’s probably best that Arya isn’t left alone. Knowing her, she’ll be making an escape from her chamber window long before her bandages have settled.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Are you sure? I could go get Maester Tarly if necessary,” Daenerys offered, halfway out the door._ _ _

___ _

___Slowly, decisively, Sansa nodded her head, making her intentions for the Targaryen to stay clear. “Sam’s expected to check in on her within the hour, so there’s no need.” Teasingly, the auburn royal turned to Arya and added before leaving, “Don’t be fooled by her reluctance. This one’s probably spent as much time at your bedside as Jon and I have.”_ _ _

___ _

___Ducking her head in discomfort, Daenerys reentered the warm bedchamber. The space was filled with dark animal hides and richly colored oak trimmings. The small fire quietly flickering in the room’s hearth casted a soft glow on the walls, lending to its cozy atmosphere. Flurries of snowfall could be seen drifting in the wind outside of the thick-paned windows. The monarch made herself comfortable on the recently vacated chair._ _ _

___ _

___“She says I can’t be left alone, but I’m not. Nym’s right here,” Arya jested, ruffling the fur of the direwolf that had fallen asleep next to her._ _ _

___ _

___Smiling faintly, Daenerys responded, “I don’t think Nymeria’s who your sister had in mind when she said that.”_ _ _

___ _

___The Stark scoffed, “Sansa’s got no idea what she’s talking about.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Are you saying that she’s wrong? That you wouldn’t try to forego bedrest before your wounds have healed? That we wouldn't catch you trying to duel with one of the soldiers down at the training grounds come supper?” The Targaryen skeptically inquired._ _ _

___ _

___Arya looked properly chastised at that, not arguing her point. After a second or two, the she-wolf spoke up again, “I heard what happened to Viserion.”_ _ _

___ _

___Amethyst eyes turned somber, “One cannot have war without losses,” then they lit with a fire much like that of her dragons, “But the Night King will pay for what he did. A thousand times over, I’ll make sure of it.”_ _ _

___ _

___“I don’t doubt that you will. We all will. He’s taken more loved ones than we could possibly ever account for and he’ll continue to do so if we don’t stop him.”_ _ _

___ _

___Daenerys offered a grim acknowledgement to the other woman’s thoughts, “Although true, you’ll need to heal before you can back up those words.” She then raised a finger to trace the bruise that formed above Arya’s left brow. “You let yourself get captured for the sake of a man who once took you captive himself, from what I hear.”_ _ _

___ _

___Exhaling through her nose, the she-wolf countered with her eyes closed, “It was never that simple.”_ _ _

___ _

___Gentle, almost a whisper, Daenerys requested, “Explain it to me then.”_ _ _

___ _

___“In his own twisted way, he reminded me of my father. Not a lot, but some.” Gray irises came into view as the Stark gradually reopened her eyes, “Sandor’s honest, even when it reaps him no benefits. In his unorthodox way, he tries to help people. His experiences have proven to him that the world really is a big and bad place, but he still tries to warn others. To teach them life’s lessons before the real thing happens.” She shook her head softly, “I’m not saying I agree with him, but Sandor isn’t the evil man everyone makes him out to be. Who he makes _himself _out to be.”___ _ _

___ _

___“It would appear that you’re not wholly incorrect. He joined your efforts to rescue Yara when any self-serving man would have stayed behind. Drank all the wine they could possibly ingest. Eat to their belly’s content.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Exactly,” Arya agreed. During her impromptu character analyzation of The Hound, the Targaryen had moved her hand up into dark tresses, soothingly scratching at Arya’s scalp. It reminded the Stark just how exhausted she was, her eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. Shaking her head a bit, the she-wolf made herself concentrate on her visitor. She’d blame her next question on her sleep-hazed mind. “So, if Sansa knows, I can only presume that you know how I’ve survived on my own this long. I knew I never should have trusted Theon,” she growled out feebly._ _ _

___ _

___Daenerys studied the battered Stark intensely, “I don’t think Theon had much of a choice. Look at you.” The Dragon Queen grimaced empathetically, bringing both of her hands to the sides of Arya’s face. “We were all so worried about you. If you think someone like Theon stood a chance against the protective nature of your siblings, you’re not as clever as I thought you were.”_ _ _

___ _

___The assassin guffawed, jostling the hands resting on her cheeks out of place in the process, “Clever? That’s what you want to call me? Now that you know what I am? What I’ve done? How can you be so accepting about all of this? I’m a murderer. I lied to all of you. I’m _still _lying to all of you.”___ _ _

___ _

___“Still?”_ _ _

___ _

___“You all think of me as this dependable person. As an honorable keeper of the North. You all see me and treat me as a Stark. I’m no Stark; I’m No One. I don’t belong here or anywhere. The only thing I live for is revenge, revenge for a family that’s not even my own anymore.”_ _ _

___ _

___Violet eyes expressed so much heartbreak and sadness in one look. Returning her palms to Arya’s jaw, cradling it, Daenerys said, “There is a reason people look at you the way they do. Your sister, your brothers, the northerners, Brienne, they all see it. _I _see it. No matter how removed or selfish that you believe yourself to be, you are so much more. There is a tie between you and your home that will never break. The same way that I could never forget stories of the Vale’s endless mountains and valleys, or the Reach’s Starry Sept, or the polished black stone of Dragonstone in the Crownlands, you’ll never forget the sacredness of the weirwood, the beauty in the first snowfall, or the fierce loyalty between siblings. We are connected to our families and their stories, no matter what we do or where we go.” Daenerys tenderly swept her thumb over a rather deep gash in Arya’s bottom lip, the one that Theon had given her. “And I believe that there’s a comfort in that.”___ _ _

___ _

___Resisting the urge to lean into the touch, Arya managed a heartfelt, “Thank you. For bringing me back and for all of this.”_ _ _

___ _

___“I know you’d do the same for me,” the monarch confirmed simply, shrugging a shoulder._ _ _

___ _

___Feeling more weightless than she had in years, the she-wolf grinned, “Probably.”_ _ _

___ _

___Emboldened by their closeness and feeling oddly sentimental after their talk, Arya pulled one of the Queen’s hands down flat against her chest, just over her heart. “You might just be one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”_ _ _

___ _

___Daenerys smirked right back, “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolf.”_ _ _

___ _

___The Stark broke eye contact as she started, “I know that I’m not really in a position to kneel, so I’ll wait until I can do so the right way. And I know that Jon’s already made the North’s allegiances clear, but…” Arya glanced upwards, staring deep into the amethyst eyes before her, “But I, as Arya Stark, would like to pledge my sword to you and your cause. Properly.”_ _ _

___ _

___The Targaryen took in a sharp breath, her hand pressing more firmly into the Stark’s chest. “Arya, that’s…Are you sure?” she finally pushed out._ _ _

___ _

___The dark-haired woman merely nodded her consent._ _ _

___ _

___“I guess you better hurry up and get better then,” Daenerys advised, smiling affectionately down at her Wolf._ _ _


	11. don’t forget the things we did to put our minds at ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is healing, but as always, there's hiccups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Danarya fluff, enjoy it my dudes. I wanted to sit with injured Arya for a bit more before the main plotline picks up again. Per usual, this is unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes. Read responsibly my friends! 
> 
> Title comes from Only One by Carlie Hanson

It was a slow process, Arya’s recovery. She was already the restless type when she wasn’t bedridden, which made her predicament that much worse. For the first time in what felt like ages, Arya felt safe and comfortable enough to do something unfathomable. The she-wolf _whined _. Her siblings and friends were beating her over the head with their incessant care and hovering. Whether it be that she decided to reach for her own cup of water off her bedside table, or she attempted to change herself into fresh clothes, or, gods forbid, she do something as daring as try to bathe all on her own. The moment she endeavored to do something even remotely taxing in her current state, Sansa, Jon, Brienne, Sam, or even the servants, would lecture her on the importance of rest and allowing others to help her. In the beginning, Arya was sympathetic to their concerns, no matter how unnecessary, but eleven days in and she was starting to feel like a child. She was beyond ready for some freedom and a little adventure.__

____

____

It was early in the morning, the sun was just dawning in the east. Vivid streaks of pink, purple, and orange bled throughout the sky like a painting. Beyond the occasional whinny of the horses in their stalls, or the snort of a dozing pig, Winterfell was mostly silent. The soft snowfall added to the serene atmosphere brought with the rising sun. At least, that’s what Arya could hear and see from her window. Ironically, she was tired of spending so much time in her bed. It had her waking up long before most of the keep’s other inhabitants.

Huffing irritably to herself, Arya threw off the layers of fur covering her and rose from the feather mattress. Blearily, Nymeria blinked open her eyes at her owner’s sudden activity. As was common of the direwolf now, she stood to follow the Stark.

“I need to get the hell out of this room. I can’t look at these same stone walls for another second,” Arya complained to both herself and her companion. Relying on energy that she didn’t have much to spare of, the she-wolf stuffed her feet into the boots she kept right beside her bed and walked towards her chamber door with a bravado that didn’t last long. She was a mere few paces from where she started when she all but collapsed to the floor.

Gripping her sides in pain, the Stark let out a sharp hiss. Nymeria was at her side in a heartbeat, licking at her cheek. Arya had her eyes shut tightly, gritting her teeth through the intense throbbing of her ribs. The thump of her body impacting with the floor must have alerted someone, because a foreign pair of hands were upon her in seconds. A gentle, feminine voice accompanied them.

“Lady Arya, it is unwise to move around without assistance. You’re still healing.”

The woman was pale, like most northerners, with brunette locks the color of dried cinnamon. Her hair was pulled to the side in a braid, with a couple errant wisps loose to frame her face. Aside from her prominent cheekbones, she possessed very delicate features. The soft bow of her lips was difficult not to notice. She was pretty. Her amber-brown eyes scanned the Stark’s body in concern.

Arya waved a hand, hoping to dismiss the servant’s worries, “I’ll be fine. If I could just escape this damn room and breathe some fresh air, I’d be much better off.”

Scrunching her brow doubtfully, the servant girl waivered, “I don’t think Lady Sansa or Maester Tarly would be supportive of such an idea.”

“Have we met? What’s your name?” Arya asked, realizing she didn’t know this woman in the slightest.

Blushing at the noble’s direct attention, the handmaiden answered, “Oh, I’m Reila, but most everyone calls me Rei.” She bowed her head respectfully, “Your sister took me into her service recently. I’ve heard a lot about you Milady.”

“No need for titles. You can just call me Arya.”

The servant’s blush burned even brighter at the statement, “Is that, um, is that allowed?”

“I don’t see why not. I’m about as much a lady as one of those horses outside.”

Rei let out a giggle at the comparison, covering her mouth daintily with her hand. Arya offered a toothy grin and shrugged good naturedly at her response. The action brought back the ache in the Stark’s ribs. A wheeze of discomfort escaped her, causing Rei to resume her fretting.

“Milad- I mean, Arya. You really shouldn’t be out of bed. Should I go get Maester Tarly?” She placed the back of her hand on the she-wolf’s forehead, “You’re white as a sheet and you’re burning up."

Nymeria reminded the women of her presence when she nuzzled her cold snout into her master’s neck, checking on her in her own way. Arya let out a tired sigh and scratched behind one of the wolf’s ears.

“I’m alright, I swear. I think I just need to leave this room for a bit is all.”

Rei nodded hesitantly, “If you really think so, then I’ll help you.” She pointed an unexpectedly stern finger at the Stark, “But your sister said that you shouldn’t be alone if it can be helped, so you’ll have to endure my company.”

“What, is she telling all of Winterfell or something?” Arya questioned, her eyebrows nearly reaching her hairline in disbelief.

“Or something,” the servant answered playfully, “Let’s get you up off the floor.” She gripped Arya’s forearms and helped her to her feet. Having both Nymeria and Rei on either side of her, the Stark was able to make it towards the door with a bit more ease. She kept her left hand firmly bunched in the scruff of her direwolf’s neck and Rei held onto her right arm to steady her. They gradually made their way out into the castle’s halls. It wasn’t long before they received nods and greetings from the other early birds of the Keep. Most of its dwellers hadn’t seen Arya in quite a while since she was restricted to her chambers for the past week and a half, so they were enthusiastic in their acknowledgements. Arya appreciated it, but she was over the delays.

As they finally made it outside to the castle grounds, Arya took a deep breath of the cold northern air through her nose. She let its biting chill fill her lungs and held it in for a moment, releasing it all with a warm exhale through her mouth. The she-wolf appeared more at ease from the mere seconds she had spent outside than all the days she had spent cooped up behind castle walls. The Stark was able to lose herself in the stir of the northern landscape. From watching the swirls of snowflakes that got caught on the occasional draft of wind, to listening to the back-and-forth chirps of the waking cardinals. It was exactly what she needed.

Arya was stirred from her reverie by Rei’s observation, “You’re not quite what I expected.”

She turned her head in puzzlement towards the servant, “Meaning?”

Flustered, the handmaiden spoke with a frenzy, trying to explain herself before her words could be misconstrued as offensive, “I just mean that you’re not as scary as everyone makes you out to be. Not that people call you scary. Reserved might be a better word.”

“Reserved?”

The continued one-word questions seemed to further rattle the woman, “I think they mean it in a good way. That you’re the strong, silent type. Like a true northerner.”

Arya opened her mouth in astonishment, “A true northerner?”

“I think it’s supposed to be a compliment, at least that’s how I see it.” Rei looked at the Stark, “Some say you’re like your father. I’d only ever heard stories of him from my own parents, but he sounded like a good man.”

“He was. A great man,” Arya added, eyes unfocused and her mind filled with memories of a time long ago.

“You’re rather great too, from what I can tell,” Rei offered bashfully, gazing up at Arya from beneath full eyelashes.

Chuckling dryly, Arya responded, “You hardly know me, Rei.”

“Who says I need to? I’ve always found myself to be a good judge of character. You know, you shouldn’t question a woman’s intuition on these kinds of things,” the handmaiden nodded self-assuredly.

The two’s conversation stalled as they heard footsteps approaching from behind them. Facing the sound, they saw Jon, Daenerys, and Missandei making their way out of the Keep’s main doors with Ghost taking up the rear. They had yet to notice the pair, caught up in their own conversation. It wasn’t until Ghost spotted Nymeria and bounded towards his sister that their presence became known.

Three sets of eyes locked on Arya in various degrees of shock and frustration.

It was Jon who spoke up first, the overprotective brother that he was, “Arya! What are you doing out here? You’re not supposed to be out of bed, let alone out in the snow!”

“I’m fine, Jon. A little snow never hurt anyone,” Arya dismissed quickly.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with the Stark girl’s carelessness. Jon further argued, “What if Sansa saw you? She’d have both our heads!”

Smirking, Arya snarked, “She told me not do anything on my own, so I’m not.” She tilted her head to the woman beside her, “See, I brought Rei with me.”

Jon looked incredulously from the servant to his sister, “That’s not what she meant and you know it, Arya. Sam told you to keep to your room. It’s for your own good.”

“I do believe the change in scenery has helped. Arya was washed out and feverish earlier, but now, she’s much livelier,” Rei inputted optimistically from next to the she-wolf. At some point, her hands had gone from resting on the Stark’s lower arm to encircling her bicep.

“I believe it’s Maester Tarly’s job to decide whether or not her physical state is improving,” Daenerys cut in, arms crossed firmly over her chest and eyes narrowed in contempt at the servant’s injection.

Missandei appeared the least stunned at the Targaryen’s ridicule of the handmaiden and therefore stepped in first. Unsurely, the dark-skinned woman suggested, “We could escort Lady Stark back inside.”

Jon nodded appreciatively.

Recognizing a losing battle, Arya groaned in exhaustion, “If I must.”

“If you’d like, I could prepare a warm bath for you,” Rei offered eagerly.

“There will be no need. Missandei and I will handle it from here, thank you. I’m sure that Lady Sansa has much that needs to be done around the Keep, preparing for the Night King and all that,” Daenerys answered assertively.

Taking the hint, Rei curtsied politely, “Of course, Your Grace.” Before leaving, she caught Arya’s eye one last time with a shy smile.

The she-wolf bowed her head back in acknowledgement.

Jon, shaking his head at the bizarreness of the whole thing, advised, “A bath might be just what you need. If the two of you’ve got a handle on this,” He gestured at his sister tiredly, “I’m going to go check on our newest addition.”

Growing stern again, Arya ventured, “Is that thing properly chained and gagged? We don’t need him attracting any unwanted attention.”

“He’s taken care of, but that’s not something you need to worry about. The only thing you should be focused on is getting better.” Jon clasped a hand on Arya’s shoulder and spoke with a calm intensity, “We need you at your best.”

Arya nodded stiffly, taking her brother’s words seriously.

“Go on then.” Jon began walking away but not without adding, “And don’t think that I’ve forgotten what Theon told me. We’ll have plenty of time to address that once you’ve finished recovering.”

Anxious at the thought of talking about her past with one of the most important people in her life, Arya grasped at Nymeria’s collar, hoping to distract herself from her brother’s gaze as soon as possible. Of all people, the assassin wasn’t sure she could take the disappointment and rejection such a conversation would inevitably lead to with Jon. Once the truth was irrevocably out in the open, Arya was terrified of how he would view her. How he would no longer see his sister, but a ruthless killer in her wake. Since making it back to Winterfell, both of them had avoided speaking of her time with the Faceless Men. Sansa’s tame reaction in itself was a miracle, so what were the odds of Jon handling it so well too? Lightning doesn’t strike the same spot twice, but one could hope. Although, it was little too late for wishful thinking now.

Wordlessly, Missandei took up Arya’s right side and helped her back towards the entrance. Nymeria carried the brunt of her master’s weight as Arya leaned heavily into her as they walked. All the standing and talking had worn out the already-tired Stark’s body. Daenerys took the lead, not saying a word as they reentered the castle.

Reaching the door to Arya’s room, the Targaryen pushed through aggressively and held it open for the others. Missandei navigated them to the bed and positioned the Stark so that she was sitting at the edge of the mattress, legs swung over the side. Crouching, the dark-skinned woman carefully removed Arya’s boots. Daenerys watched them, violet eyes smoldering with a scarcely contained rage.

“Missandei, could you get the servants to fetch the hot water for Lady Stark’s bath?” The Targaryen poised it as a question, but there was no doubt that she expected compliance. Arya raised her eyebrows at the use of formalities.

Missandei nodded, more than happy to leave the tension-filled room, “Certainly, Your Grace.” Passing through the threshold out into the corridor, she casted a sympathetic wince in Arya’s direction before leaving. The Stark’s eyes widened, looking more lost at the gesture. Even Nymeria seemed to pick up on the mood as the direwolf trotted after Missandei in escape.

“Those two must’ve grown close while I was gone, huh? Nym doesn’t follow just anyone,” Arya observed.

Daenerys didn’t respond, getting straight to the point once they were alone, “What were you thinking? You’re supposed to be on bedrest, which, correct me if I’m wrong, means that you are to be in bed. Resting.”

Huffing in agitation, Arya nearly whined back, “I’ve been in bed for days! I needed to get out for a bit. You didn’t truly believe that I would stay in here forever like some sort of feeble old woman, did you?”

Daenerys whirled on the she-wolf, marching right up to her, “No, but I certainly didn’t expect to find you out taking a nice morning stroll with some naïve girl that hardly knows her way around the castle, let alone what’s best for your health! Your pledge to me will be meaningless if you're not strong enough to keep it.”

“Is that what you’re on about?” Arya wondered in disbelief. “It was my idea. Rei was only doing what I asked her to do.”

“And I’m sure that girl would jump off a cliff if you asked her to,” Daenerys snapped back.

Arya paused, scrunching her brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? Don’t be daft, of course she wouldn’t jump off a cliff.”

“The only daft one here is you, Wolf. Since you can’t see that she’s clearly besotted with you,” the Targaryen explained dryly, rolling her eyes heavenward.

A knock on the door brought the argument to a pause.

“Enter,” Arya called.

In came Missandei with a few of the Stark household servants. Nymeria poked her head in the doorway, raising her snout to take a quizzical sniff of the air. They carried with them multiple buckets and a caldron of steaming water. With practiced ease, the chambermaids efficiently filled the pails with the water from the generous-sized caldron and emptied them into the wooden bathtub in the far corner of the Stark’s room. Once they were finished, they bowed their heads and gathered their items before exiting. Missandei and Daenerys turned to one another and spoke with their eyes, having a conversation that Arya was not privy to. Having reached a silent decision, the curly haired woman also left the room so that the two royals could be given some privacy, Nymeria on her heels.

Sulking, Arya circled back to the discussion they were having before they were interrupted, “She’s not smitten with me. She’s only just met me.” She laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “People don’t just-” All of the sudden her voice cracked, “W-wait. What are you doing?”

Daenerys had encroached on her personal space, violently reaching out to unlace the closed collar of her shirt. After a couple sharp tugs, the top of the garment came loose.

Bluntly, the platinum monarch clarified, “You can’t take a bath with your clothes on.”

Arya placed her palms over the other woman’s, “I think I can handle it.” She managed a shaky grin, aiming to deter her and feeling on unfamiliar ground.

“I’m not asking,” Daenerys threw back with a challenging edge. “Since you clearly cannot be trusted to take your well-being seriously, I’ll have to do it.”

“You?” the she-wolf gaped.

“Yes, me. Do I not meet your standards? Would you rather I get your unsubtle admirer for you instead?” the Targaryen asked sarcastically.

Arya mumbled under her breath, “She has a name.”

Narrowing her eyes dangerously, Daenerys glared down at the still-seated Stark, “Excuse me?”

Gulping loudly, Arya reiterated herself, “I said she has a name. It’s Rei. Her name’s Rei.”

“Of course. You two are so close, how could I have forgotten?” The Dragon Queen’s words were sardonic and bitter. Arya hadn’t seen this side of her before. It was juvenile and petty and she had no idea where it was coming from or how to handle it.

Struggling to placate her, Arya squeezed the hands that rested at the opening of her shirt. “It’s nothing personal, Daenerys. I’ve never been good at being coddled.”

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect, spurring on the monarch’s irate mood. Daenerys refocused on the task that she had started, grasping at the hem of Arya’s shirt and tugging it upward. When the Stark helplessly tried to dissuade her, she was met with a harsh scowl. Realizing resistance was pointless, Arya lifted her arms as painlessly as she possibly could as Daenerys pulled the tunic over her head. The Targaryen faltered for only a second at the scars and bruises that riddled the pale skin of the dark-haired woman’s upper body. A tad gentler, she moved her hands to the waistband of the she-wolf’s dark, woolen trousers to remove them. The violet-eyed woman hadn’t noticed until that very moment that she had been holding her breath. The sudden need for air and the dizziness she felt clued her in. Taking a subtle inhale, Daenerys continued. Crouched down, she had the pants bunched at the Stark’s ankles when she felt Arya’s calloused hands come to rest on her shoulders. Looking up, Daenerys saw that Arya looked a bit flushed.

“Are you alright, Arya? You’re not feeling feverish again, are you?” Worry replaced the agitation in an instant.

Clearing her throat, the she-wolf answered in a rough voice, “’M fine.”

Daenerys ignored the tremor in her voice for the Stark’s sake. Still holding onto her shoulders, Arya used her for balance as she stepped out of her breeches. The monarch stood back up and offered out her hand to help the injured woman into the tub. The assassin took it wordlessly. Besides the initial pain of lowering herself into the bath, Arya seemed to visibly relax once she settled under the water’s surface. Tendrils of steam coiled up and around her, coaxing the tenseness from her aching muscles. Daenerys located a nearby pitcher and dipped it into the water to wet the Stark’s hair. After pouring out the pitcher’s contents, the violet eyed woman began to slowly comb her fingers through the damp strands. There was a basket filled with a couple bars of soap not too far from the tub. Taking one from it, Daenerys began to lather it up in her hands. She kneeled behind the side of the tub that the Stark was propped against, so that she was facing her back.

“May I?” She sought Arya’s permission softly.

Realizing what she meant, the she-wolf warily dipped her head in affirmation.

Both women felt a little off kilter at the degree of intimacy in the moment. The lack of eye-contact alleviated the heaviness somewhat. It was a quiet bubble that they occupied, only the two of them. No matter how reluctant Arya was to accept the support, Daenerys filled the role of caregiver unexpectedly well once she got past her frustrations. Tender but firm, the Targaryen massaged the taut shoulders under her grip. Moving up Arya’s neck, she pressed her fingers into the she-wolf’s scalp and worked the soap through her hair. Arya’s eyelids drifted shut at the calming sensation.

“I believe that I may have overreacted,” Daenerys conceded eventually.

Chuckling lightly, Arya jested, “May have?” Causing the monarch to slap her arm.

Arya ducked away from the offending appendage, “Hey now! Don’t beat the infirm!”

“Oh, now you’ll play the part of the sick and frail?” Daenerys asked incredulously before losing herself to a fit of giggles. Arya smiled brightly at the sound.

Sighing, the Stark confessed, “I know I don’t make it easy. It’s been a while since I’ve been around people who looked out for me like this.”

“Not too many friendly faces among the Faceless Men?” Daenerys queried, proud of her wordplay.

“No, I guess not.” The corner of Arya’s mouth quirked up in a half-hearted smirk.

Daenerys anticipated the assassin’s hesitance to speak any further on her time at the House of Black and White and directed the conversation to something less grim.

The Dragon Queen impishly observed, “Yara’s not been near as difficult a patient as you, my dear Wolf.”

Caught unawares, Daenerys yelped when Arya retaliated to the slight. Like a wet dog, the Stark shook out her hair so that anything and anyone in the vicinity became positively soaked.

Hands in the air to shield herself from any further drops, the Targaryen ordered, “Arya Stark! You stop that this instant!”

“What? And make this easy for you?” Arya’s cheeks hurt from how hard she was grinning. “Daenerys the Unburnt, afraid of a little water.”

Noticing that the monarch had lowered her hands that served as her shield, Arya experimentally turned her head from side to side, hoping to catch her off guard a second time. Daenerys saw the attack coming and brought her palms to the sides of the she-wolf’s head to cease her movements.

“I mean it, Wolf. Do it again and you’ll regret it,” she cautioned from over the Stark’s shoulder.

“Do your worst Targaryen,” Arya defied, barely containing her laughter.

One of Daenerys’ hands descended and took ahold of Arya’s chin with nimble fingers. Pushing upward, she forced the dark-haired woman’s head backwards, so that Daenerys could look down at her. It was clear who was in the more vulnerable position as Arya blinked up at the face looming upside-down over her own.

“Believe me, the last thing you want is the wrath of a Targaryen,” Amethyst eyes burned like embers as the monarch huskily whispered from above her. She had intended for her tone to come off more teasing but apparently missed the mark.

Arya’s eyebrows shot up. Neither were sure why, but suddenly the air was thick and unbearably warm. One thing was certain, the bath wasn’t the cause.

Daenerys hadn’t released her fingers’ hold on the she-wolf’s chin. If anything, her grip only firmed as she started to lean in. The Stark felt like a rabbit ensnared in a trap. There was nowhere to go, her pursuer getting closer. She was conflicted. On one hand, she wanted to run, a chance to see beyond the entrancing violet eyes impending above her. On the other, she wanted to see how this would play out. Arya hadn’t felt a connection like this with anyone before. Her heart felt like it was seconds from pounding right out of her chest. The assassin in her only saw the vulnerabilities of her current predicament. Naked, exposed, at a disadvantage. But the voice in the back of her mind, the one belonging to an Arya Stark often forgotten, was encouraging her to stay. To find out what this was.

So unlike her, Arya’s mind froze. Her inner turmoil unrelenting, she couldn’t bring herself to make a choice.

Something must have given her away, because Daenerys slowed her already-unhurried advance. Smiling softly, the monarch leaned in and did the unthinkable. She dropped an innocent peck to the Stark’s nose. Arya blinked dazedly at the action.

Releasing a chuckle at the other girl’s confusion, she quipped, “How easy the mighty fall.”

“Um, what?” The she-wolf asked in bewilderment.

Daenerys’ smile turned alarmingly affectionate, “In retrospect, my wrath might not be what you need to fear.” Fishing out the pitcher that had gotten lost in the water, the Targaryen gestured for the other woman to lean forward again, “We need to hurry up, or you’re going to wrinkle like a prune.”

Arya cleared her throat harshly, “The sooner we’re finished the sooner you can terrorize other occupants of the keep.” She was a Faceless Man, not a bumbling fool. She needed to act like it.

“Silly wolf. Perhaps if you weren’t so troublesome, I wouldn’t ‘terrorize’ you,” Daenerys shook her head fondly.

There was a pounding at the closed door, before a deep voice called, “Khaleesi? Are you in there?”

Arya’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of her skull at the intrusion. She knew exactly who was outside her chambers and why they were there. The Stark hadn’t spent much time around the old Mormont, but she already wasn’t a fan. Ser Jorah’s affections for his queen went beyond that of a simple advisor, that much was clear. From her sparse exchanges with the man, Arya felt that the dislike was mutual. She was surprised it took him this long to notice the Dragon Queen’s absence.

“I’ll be right out Jorah. Give me a moment,” Daenerys answered back. Using a nearby cloth, the Targaryen began to pat out the moisture from the Stark’s hair. Providing a hand for assistance, she helped Arya exit the tub so that she could dry off the rest of her body.

The she-wolf pattered over to the wooden chest that held most of her clothing and retrieved fresh garments. With Daenerys’ aid, she was able to change. She donned a white long-sleeve tunic and black trousers. She would’ve left it at that if the platinum haired monarch hadn’t advised, “You should wear this as well.”

Arya was finishing tying the knot of the string at the top of her shirt when she looked over her shoulder to see what the Targaryen was talking about. Arya saw her holding out a black leather jerkin, much like the one her father used to wear. It was a simple garment, not much in the way of embroidery, but it was one of the nicest pieces of clothing she had ever owned. She didn’t wear it often. It reminded her too much of a man who’s shoes she could never fill.

“Black suits you,” the Dragon Queen stated. She held out the sleeveless jerkin for Arya to put her arms through. After minor hesitation, the Stark did as she was expected. Daenerys moved around to Arya’s front so that she could fasten the straps of the vest. Smoothing out the material, she gave it one last appreciative glance over, “You look good.”

“Good enough to look like someone who’s not supposed to be bedridden?” the assassin ventured hopefully.

“Don’t push it, Stark,” the Targaryen warned. “Speaking of-” she was interrupted by an impatient wolf.

“I’ll be fine Daenerys. You can go if you want,” Arya offered, tilting her head in the direction of the chamber’s threshold. “If I run into trouble, I’ll get one of the attendants.”

Daenerys squinted as she inquired, half-playful, half-serious, “Are you trying to get rid of me so that you and Rei might spend some time alone?”

The Stark was unable to contain her grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it. The only woman around here I seem to be getting any semblance of privacy with is you, My Queen.” She bowed her head exaggeratedly.

Cheeks burning at the thought, no matter how jovially it was delivered, Daenerys bashfully averted her eyes. “Well then, let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

“If it pleases you,” Arya ribbed with a knowing smirk.

The Targaryen hummed out a noise of agreement, the flush dusting her cheeks only intensifying. “Duty calls,” she reminded before retreating to deal with her royal responsibilities.

Arya’s smile remained long after the other woman left.


	12. the only way to lose that fearful feeling, replace it with love that's healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks hash out some long-awaited discussions and Daenerys deals with her own conflicting feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just take this chapter, I'm tired of looking at it lmao. For some reason, this one was just so difficult for me to put on paper. It's not even the most plot-filled chapter. Mostly it's just family dynamics and a bit of dany x arya stuff. If the Stark siblings come off a bit ooc in the way that they tease each other and joke around, that's because I wanted to actually show that they enjoy being around each other. I wanted them to act like actual siblings. Regardless, this is what I got so hopefully it's not the worst read for you guys. I apologize in advance if it is. The next chapter should definitely be more exciting since we're gonna be dealing with the meeting with Cersei next time. I might have to break that into two parts. We'll see. As always, thank you so much for reading my garbarge!
> 
> Title comes from Heavy by Bird Talker

Daenerys felt that she had been doing a lot of adjusting recently. Beyond the expected, like who she took council with or even the change in weather, Winterfell had presented the Dragon Queen with a variety of acclimations. But one had her feeling more off-kilter than the rest.

After Jon and his group, including the much-needed white walker as proof, were back within Winterfell’s walls, Tyrion immediately got to work on writing up a letter that he could send to his sister. Most everyone was at a loss as to how Cersei would respond to the letter’s request for a meeting, but they had nothing to lose. Bran decided to have one of his ravens deliver the parchment so that he could keep an eye on the lioness if need be.

The waiting was the worst part. The keep’s occupants were restless with nerves. There was a charged energy to the castle grounds, as if a single stray spark could set all its inhabitants off. Daenerys was feeling just as on edge, as she was dealing with the never-ending wait as well as the loss of Viserion. She needed to know if his death was worth it, if Cersei would actually see and be moved by the proof that they had of the Night King’s existence.

Sansa and Missandei had hit it off rather effortlessly while Daenerys was off saving one of the more daring Stark siblings. The two had their own jokes and spoke in hushed whispers often as a result. Daenerys would have probably been envious of their unexpected friendship if she had not been roped in so seamlessly to their plotting and overall mischief. Daenerys needed an outlet to preoccupy herself with while their plans were at a standstill and to avoid her grief over her child. Sansa and Missandei’s never-ending gossip seemed to do the trick.

Most days, it was harmless chatter. Beyond the occasional addition of Tyrion, who was possibly the greatest busybody of them all, it was more times than not just Daenerys, Missandei, and Sansa hiding in a secluded alcove of the keep. Seated in an over-looked room or a bench under one of the larger windows of the keep, they would leisurely sip from goblets of sweet wine while they tossed frivolous theories and thoughts pertaining to Winterfell’s residents back and forth. Their discussions wouldn’t last long, but they were much needed. They were innocent, with the sole purpose of alleviating and distracting from some of the stress the women felt in the passing days. Or, at least, they were innocent up until Daenerys’ own relationships fell under scrutiny.

Currently, Sansa, the same woman who practically despised her a mere few weeks ago, was in cohorts with Missandei to wheedle out any possible gossip from the Targaryen that she could. Daenerys knew that the auburn royal meant no ill will by it, that much had been clear since she had returned from rescuing Jon. After bringing back the oldest remaining Stark brother to his kin, Sansa had been nothing but grateful and sincere when speaking to her. It was refreshing to be on the pleasant side of Sansa Stark for once. At least, it was at first. The unexpected interrogation sent the Dragon Queen’s stomach twisting in knots. She believed the focus of topic to be the trigger for these stirrings. For reasons beyond her comprehension, the other women found Daenerys’ bond with Arya to be a worthy talking-point.

“I feel that I’ve overlooked it long enough,” Sansa started diplomatically, “I must ask, what is going on between you and my sister?”

Missandei joined in on the inquiry eagerly, the wine loosening her tongue, “I cannot deny my own curiosity. You two look at each other as if you’re the only ones in the room whenever you are together. Might there be something going on between you two, Your Grace?”

Not expecting the sudden personal focus, Daenerys roughly coughed as she nearly choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. “I have not the slightest clue as to what you are referring to,” the platinum monarch managed out after patting at her chest for relief a couple times.

Sansa raised an eyebrow and looked to her guest impassively, “You’ll have to put in a touch more effort if you expect me to believe you.” The Stark’s lips curved in a teasing grin as she reminded, “After seeing your reaction to Arya’s capture and then to her injuries, I daresay, one might think that you care for her.”

Missandei couldn’t hide her amusement at the call-out. Apparently, the advisor was not on Daenerys’ side. She leaned over to gently nudge the monarch with her shoulder, “I think it’s sweet.”

The Targaryen’s mouth flapped open and shut as she looked back and forth between the two other women. It was like the pair had already spoken of this before, the way they bounced off one another.

So maybe Daenerys did know what they were hinting at. But even if they weren’t entirely off the mark, she really didn’t want to have this conversation with Arya’s sister of all people. As it was, Sansa had only just recently started to speak to her without animosity. She didn’t want to jeopardize that and end up on the receiving end of one of the auburn’s heated glares. Daenerys could not believe that there was a time when she thought Jon was the hardest Stark to crack. Having met Sansa, Arya, and Bran, he seemed like the least of her worries.

“Regardless of what you believe, I can confidently inform you that there is nothing going on between Arya and I,” Daenerys responded with her head held high. “We’re more like…old friends.” Missandei and Sansa watched her intensely, the former in wonder and the latter in utter bafflement. Daenerys felt unsettled under their gazes, “I know how bizarre it sounds, but we understand each other. Although by very different means, life has taught us similar lessons. I never would have thought that we’d find common ground, and yet we have.”

“Are we speaking of the same Arya?” Sansa joked. “My sister, Arya? As in the one who only ever wanted to practice archery with the boys and claimed that being a lady was stupid? The girl who would rather play with wolves than learn how to sew?” True disbelief laced her words by the end.

Daenerys chuckled, envisioning a younger Arya, “The very same.”

“Remember when we brought her back to her chambers and you lectured her? Nymeria wouldn’t go back in that room for hours,” Missandei reminisced innocently.

Violet eyes cut to the dark-skinned woman as Sansa questioned, “What are you talking about?”

Missandei was all too happy to enlighten the lady of the house, “One of the servant girls – Rei, I think her name was…?”

“Reila, yes. Her mother’s worked at the keep since the Bolton’s were removed and her daughter needed work, so I brought her on a few weeks ago,” Sansa explained offhandedly. “What about her though?”

Suddenly realizing the trouble that she might get Arya in, Missandei treaded carefully as she retold the events. “Your sister and Reila were outside for a few moments one morning and the both of us,” she gestured to herself and Daenerys, “and your older brother bumped into them.”

Distracted from the point of the story, Sansa started in agitation, “What was she doing outside? She’s supposed to be recuperating! How my mother raised her I will never know.” Sansa rolled her eyes at the mere memory of the two of them fighting all the time.

Daenerys couldn’t keep the smug look off her face as the auburn Stark confirmed her own concerns.

“I believe that they were outside for the barest of time, if it’s any comfort,” Missandei tried to backpedal out of the hole she had dug herself. “And Queen Daenerys filled your shoes quite nicely while you weren’t present.”

Missandei might not be so innocent after all, based on the smirk she shot her Queen’s way. Daenerys attempted to defend herself, “I was only saying what any rational person would say! That girl clearly had no idea what was good for Arya. She had her out in the snow, barely able to stand on her own. And Jon felt much the same.”

Her advisor patted her arm comfortingly as she gently admitted, “I wouldn’t say that the two of you felt entirely the same way.”

Sansa was too busy studying the platinum monarch to respond. It was as if she was searching the Targaryen for any giveaways, any clues beyond the surface. Her eyes were narrowed and her mouth pulled in a firm line. She almost reminded her of her sister when she looked at her like this.

“We were both concerned for Arya’s health. Nothing about that is dissimilar,” Daenerys stated loftily.

Offering a soothing smile, Missandei pushed, “Are you sure that it was just about Arya’s health?”

“Pardon?” The Targaryen asked with a stomach full of dread.

“Could it be that you were perhaps envious, My Queen?” Missandei’s eyes were deep brown pools of patience as she addressed the elephant in the room.

Sansa looked to the monarch with undisguised interest, waiting for her response.

The room felt like it was closing in on her. Daenerys could hardly breathe under the current pressure of the conversation. The last time she had genuine feelings for someone was Drogo. And that ended with her cradling his limp body in her arms, his eyes bloodshot as the poison coursed through his veins. Sure, she had had suitors and paramours, but they hadn’t meant anything. Daario and the like were just a way to pass the time. A way to fend off the loneliness of leadership. She wasn’t confident that she could pursue a serious relationship again. She had only known heartbreak and loss. But that’s not what she wanted with Arya. They were friends, kindred in spirit and ambition. She respected and cared for the she-wolf. That was all there was to it. Right?

“Well?” Sansa prompted delicately, breaking the lull. Her features were smooth with compassion. There was no judgement nor criticism in her countenance.

Daenerys looked up into ice-blue. All at once, she couldn’t take it. The questions, the imploring eyes, the way she was being handled like delicate porcelain. It was too much. Her breathing became labored. What started as a nice reprieve had become another source of tension for the Targaryen. Abruptly, she rose from the velvet cushion that she was seated on and made to leave. “Qhono’s waiting on me with the dragons. He suggested that I be with them while they are mourning their brother.”

She made it to the doorway of the room before Missandei called out, “Your Grace, I’ll accompany you.” The curly haired woman’s features were drawn in guilt, looking ashamed for the part she played in adding to her Queen’s stress.

“That’s quite alright Missandei. Stay, enjoy your wine. I won’t be long.” Daenerys spoke earnestly, hoping to alleviate any concerns that her advisor felt. It wasn’t Missandei’s fault that her Queen was so weak. She could feel the burning of unshed tears starting to form in her violet eyes. It was her own fault that she let the past affect her so.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sansa offered while bowing her head, looking straight at Daenerys. It was a gesture of reassurance. Letting her know that there was no pressure on when or if she decided to talk about her feelings regarding Arya. The Targaryen offered a minute nod in return before leaving.

_____________________

Arya was finally able to leave her room. It might not sound like much, but she was elated at the progress. It wouldn’t be long before she would be able to get back to her usual routine, albeit much more slowly and cautiously. Brienne and some of the guards had already mentioned the absence of the she-wolf on the training grounds. Maester Tarly was surprised that despite her overall dismissions of his medical advice, she was recovering nicely.

The Stark found herself wandering the keep’s corridors. Anything to avoid being stationary, she had had her fair share of that. She managed to snag an apple from the dining hall earlier that morning but had forgotten to eat much else. Now, her stomach was growling loud enough to catch Nymeria’s attention. The direwolf tilted her head at her master, confused by the sounds she heard coming from the woman’s gut. Arya laughed at her hound’s befuddlement. “C’mon girl. Let’s go see if we can sneak something out of the kitchen.”

The pair picked up their pace as they swept through the hallways. Following the scent of freshly baked bread that wafted through the air, the two were nearly there.

“Someone’s hungry.”

Bran and Jon were coming down the opposite hall towards them. Jon had noticed her hurried pace and decided to tease her for it. Arya slowed down to wait for them, Nymeria doing the same.

“I’ve seen you eat Jon. I was just trying to beat you here so that there would be something left for me,” Arya ribbed back.

“I think the real threat to your meal runs on four legs,” Bran tilted his chin towards the direwolf in amusement, who was gradually advancing towards the enticing smells as her owner remained in the hallway talking.

Arya looked down pitifully at her wolf as she sniffed longingly at the doorway, “Go ahead, Nym. Try and get yourself some scraps.” The animal bounded into the kitchen in seconds, the cooing of the kitchen’s occupants not long behind. Arya turned back to her brothers, “Speaking of the four-legged, where’s yours?”

Jon huffed out a laugh, “With Tormund. He told me he’s always wanted a dog, but a direwolf would do. Sometimes I think that wolf likes him more than me.”

“Wouldn’t blame him,” Arya couldn’t resist picking on her broody brother sometimes.

Jon rolled his eyes with a smile, “When’d you get so mean, huh?”

Arya clarified, grinning, “Honest, Jon. I’m honest.”

“You seem to be feeling better,” Bran noted serenely.

“Much. Mostly, I’m just happy to be out of that damn room.”

“Ever the restless one, aren’t we?” Jon observed with exasperated affection. “Mind if we join you?” He asked while looking towards the kitchen.

Arya smirked, “I don’t know, will you lecture me the entire time if you do?”

“Actually, I won’t be joining you. I need to speak with Tyrion on the message he wrote. It seems that the lioness has received his letter,” Bran spoke ominously, leaving his siblings intrigued.

“Shouldn’t we all be present then?” Jon wondered.

Shaking his head softly, Bran answered, “Not this time. And I believe that the two of you need to talk. Alone.” He emphasized the last word, pointedly looking at both his brother and sister in turn. Arya and Jon looked from him to each other in mild discomfort.

“At least let me walk you back,” Jon offered, stepping forward to help.

Waving him off, Bran called out to one of the nearby guards. The bannerman took ahold of his chair, wheeling him in the opposite direction. His siblings stood for a moment, watching them go.

“Ready to eat?” Jon ventured awkwardly. He stretched a hand out and gestured towards the doorway. Instead of answering, Arya swiftly followed the sound of her hound munching on scraps.

Bending down to pet her, Arya spoke, “Being a glutton again girl? Try not to give yourself a stomachache Nym.” She moved to the table full of food and snatched up a roll of bread as well as scooped herself a full bowl of stew from the pot hanging above the fireplace. Jon was close behind, collecting some food for himself. There wasn’t much space for sitting in the kitchen, so Jon suggested they go somewhere else to eat.

They made themselves comfortable in the dining hall. Since it wasn’t quite lunchtime, there wasn’t anyone else occupying the tables. Unfortunately for Arya, this meant that she lost whatever excuse she had to avoid what Jon had been wanting to discuss for weeks now. Jon and Arya settled at one of the tables with Nymeria laying on the ground nearby.

Jon opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to ask the questions Arya had been dreading, but she beat him to it. “How’s the training going with Tormund? Think we’ll be ready to transport the white walker soon?”

Distracted, her brother answered jokingly, “The Unsullied might be a quiet bunch, but even they seem unsettled by the thing. If Bran has good news, we might have to be ready.” He shrugged off any concern.

Arya nodded along, taking a spoonful from the stew she had in front her. She tore a bite from her bread afterwards. Mid-chew, Jon caught her attention again. “Arry-” the use of the nickname made her hair stand on end. She knew where this was going. “Could you- Do you think you could explain to me the whole face thing?” Jon asked, gesturing to his own for clarification.

The she-wolf winced at his absence of subtlety. But his tone lacked any trace of malice or anger, so that made things a bit easier on her. “I can take on the faces of others. But only after I kill them,” She answered bluntly. If she was going to have this conversation with Jon, she wasn’t going to dance around the truth.

“That’s- So you’ve killed before?” His eyes shone with something. It could be disbelief or it could be disappointment. Arya wasn’t sure and she wasn’t going to ask.

She squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye, her gray irises steeling, “Yes.”

Jon hesitated. “How many?” He didn’t seem prepared to hear her response, even as he asked the question.

The hall’s doors opened, Sansa sweeping through them. “Bran told me where I’d find you two. Having a heart-to-heart are we?” She asked as she sat down next to Jon. She appeared to have picked up on the more serious nature of her siblings’ discussion.

“We were just-” Jon started to explain before Arya answered for him.

“Jon was asking me about what I learned at the House of Black and White.”

“I expected it would come up sooner or later,” Sansa said, nodding. “How’s he taking it?” She spoke only to Arya.

The assassin chuckled dryly, “Can’t say for sure, but I think he may be having a hard time processing it.”

“He is right here,” Jon reminded them sourly.

Sansa looked at him blankly for a moment before cracking a smirk. “Relax brother, you know I’m only teasing.” She softly nudged him with her elbow before growing serious. “As difficult as it is for you to hear, it’s that much harder for her to share.” She gave Arya a glance-over, seeing the trace of discomfort in the furrow of her brows. “Like I told our dear sister, we’ve all done things we never would have thought ourselves capable of doing to get to this point. To be here. Together.” Sansa reached out to rest both of her hands over her siblings’ on the table. “And I don’t believe we’d do it any differently since it meant that we found each other again.” Her tone was quiet but firm. The auburn Stark spoke knowingly and with a maturity well-earned.

They sat there in silence, soaking in what was said and the rare luxury of spending time alone with each other. Even though they were back behind the same walls of the keep they once called home, they had all changed and traveled immensely different paths. But here, occupying the same room they used to be served warm meals alongside their mother and father, those paths don’t feel so separate anymore.

Jon nodded gruffly at his sisters, tracing a finger over the pattern of the grain on the tabletop. He peered up at Arya, “Arry, you have to understand…it might take me some time. To get used to.” His shoulders drooped as he attempted to explain himself. “You’ve always been my little sister. A little rough around the edges? Yes. Stubborn as a mule? Absolutely,” He chuckled fondly, lightly shaking his head as he smiled at her. “But I always tried to protect you. The last thing I wanted was for you to see death and what it can do to the living left behind,” his eyes searched hers, imploring and a little desperate.

Arya’s lips were pulled in a firm line, “I understand.” She reached down to brush her fingers through Nymeria’s coat, her companion’s ears perking at the contact. She always sought the wolf out when she needed comforting. “I’ve changed,” She explained simply.

“We all have,” Sansa countered resolutely.

Jon nodded sagely and cleared his throat, “It doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Arya’s grip on Nymeria loosened as she looked back up at her brother in wonder. She had no words to say, nothing to return. Her mind clouded with shock and confusion. And somewhere, deep down, she was feeling warmth and relief.

“We’re family. Nothing will ever change that, Arya. Nothing.” Sansa gave her sister a hard look, preventing her from potentially arguing the point.

Suddenly, Jon’s features morphed with discomfort. “About that…” He wouldn’t meet his sisters’ gazes as they turned to him. His body curled inward, he looked as burdened with the truth as any man possibly could.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed, “Out with it Jon.” She might be wise beyond her years, but her patience could wear thin just like anyone else.

So unlike her these days, Arya initiated physical contact, placing a hand on Jon’s arm. She didn’t say a word, letting her presence speak for her.

Jon seemed to translate her reassurance. “Bran told me something…about my parents. My true parents.”

“True parents? As in plural?” Sansa questioned.

He exhaled heavily and looked deeply at them both, “We don’t share the same father...My real father is Rhaegar Targaryen. And my mother is Lyanna Stark.” 

“Rhaegar Targaryen? Aunt Lyanna?” Sansa asked incredulously.

“Yes, but you cannot tell anyone, especially not Daenerys,” Jon cautioned gravely.

Arya was silently observing, taking the information in. “That would make you her nephew. It might complicate her claim to the throne,” she noted.

“But it won’t! Not if she doesn’t find out. I don’t want anything to do with that goddamn thing. It’s brought nothing but pain and suffering to the people I’ve known. Good people.” Jon had clearly thought about this prior.

Sansa jumped back in, “Of course not, no one’s saying you want it.” She paused, letting things settle for a moment. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still a threat to her.”

“Alright Sansa. He’s clearly about to burst,” Arya waved a hand in Jon’s direction, who had his hands clasped tightly into fists on top of the table. “Take it easy on him.” She casted a calming glance his way. “You have our word Jon, we won’t tell anyone. But you need to be prepared for if she finds out. Prepare for the worst and have a plan to smooth things over.”

The Stark-turned-Targaryen appeared soothed by her promise. “Thank you. Both of you. I didn’t want to keep this from you. You’re my family.”

A gentle smile grew on Arya’s lips, “You’ll always be our brother Jon.” It might not have been an ‘I love you’, but it was as close to it as Arya could voice.

“Always,” Sansa confirmed. She scooted a bit closer to him on the bench in solidarity.

Jon offered them a watery smile, ducking his head in embarrassment. The Stark family had been through so much to be with each other. This discovery wouldn’t change that.

Breaking out of the moment, Sansa remembered, “We’ll need to address this later, but it doesn’t have to be now. Although I almost forgot why I came here. I was looking for you-” she pivoted back to Arya, “I believe that Daenerys would do well with your company right now.”

Arya lifted a brow in puzzlement. “How cryptic of you.”

“Missandei and I might’ve brought up something of a sore subject for her. She wasn’t upset per say, but she didn’t look the brightest when she left.” 

“What did you speak about?”

“Why don’t you ask her? I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it.” Sansa cracked a grin at her. “You two are rather close aren’t you?”

“No. We’re friends. Sort of. I think?” Arya hadn’t had a friend in years. She wasn’t even sure how to be one anymore.

Looking down haughtily at her, Sansa observed, “Daenerys said the same thing. Funny that I have a difficult time believing that, no matter who’s mouth it comes from.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd? My little sister being so close with my aunt?” Jon wondered aloud. He looked baffled at first, until his lips quirked with an all-too-aware smile. “Guess it wouldn’t be the first time a Stark and a Targaryen got too friendly.”

Fighting a blush, which she hardly ever had to deal with anymore, Arya stood from the table. “That’s enough of that. I’m going. Don’t both of you have duties to be done? I’m sure gossiping isn’t one of them,” the she-wolf’s look was hard, but her siblings didn’t buy it for a second.

“Of course, of course. You wouldn’t want to keep your favorite Targaryen waiting,” Sansa spoke innocently.

Jon scoffed, but kept his voice down, “If anyone’s her favorite Targaryen, it should be me.”

“I’m leaving,” Arya announced, rolling her eyes and patting at her thigh for Nymeria to follow. She was halfway down the hall when Jon caught up to her.

“Arya!”

She stopped, swiveling back towards him.

“Can I ask for your opinion on something?” He asked, looking unsure of himself, as he scanned the corridor to make sure no one else was around to eavesdrop.

Arya bowed her head in affirmation, hoping he felt safe enough to ask.

Jon stepped closer to her, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Do you think I should tell her? Daenerys, I mean.” He anxiously rubbed his hands together. “It’s just that you know her well and you’re the only person that knows about all of this that I could trust.”

She wanted to help, to alleviate the weight he was carrying, but that was just it. It was what she wanted to do. What she needed to do was an altogether different story. What was needed was a decision based on the long-term and the betterment of the many, not the few. So Arya swallowed hard and gray met brown as she answered resolutely, “Don’t. Don’t tell her just yet. She can’t have more distractions. We’re preparing for the Night King and she still has a war to win in King’s Landing. Knowing about you would only tear her focus away from what matters right now.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth as she spoke them, but they needed to be said.

Jon didn’t look much better off, his face still drawn in with frustration and misery. He hung his head, mumbling, “I know. It’s just-” he rubbed at his beard roughly, “It’s not easy.”

It was difficult, but this wasn’t a burden Daenerys was yet ready to bear. Arya dipped her head to catch his gaze, “I know it’s not easy Jon, but it has to be this way. For her. And for the rest of Westeros.” With a deep look, she turned on her heel, in search of the monarch.

__________________________

Daenerys had in fact checked in on Drogon and Rhaegal, and after ensuring they were alright, she had escaped to the cellar underneath the keep. The one where the only inhabitants were the barrels of ale and grain. Where the wall-mounted torches’ flickering flames were the only sounds she was forced to hear. It was the closest place to peaceful she could find on such short notice. Where Grey Worm and Ser Jorah might not look for her. She was standing with her back to the entryway, hands clasped in front of her as she lost herself to the torrent of thoughts she had been trying to ignore. But here, in this silent cavern, where the dust settled permanently and the glow of the torchlight made the shadows bounce eerily across the walls, Daenerys could be swallowed whole by her fears and anxieties without interruption.

At least, that was the case before she heard the indiscernible scraping of a door dragging across stone floor. An unexpected visitor’s footfalls could be heard from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see Arya. “What are you doing here? And why is it that I heard you coming this time?” Usually the woman walked with the kind of light steps one would expect from a rabbit; silent, imperceptible. The only reason she could’ve possibly heard the she-wolf coming was because she wanted to be heard.

Arya shrugged. “I didn’t want to scare you.” Her answer was simple, less involved than Daenerys expected.

“Well thank you. How...thoughtful of you,” the Targaryen offered a half-hearted smile in her direction. The action didn’t reach her eyes.

The Stark looked around the room surreptitiously. “You really shouldn’t be down here all alone. Anyone could corner you here,” she spoke lightly, not wanting to further disrupt the monarch’s mood if she was already feeling upset.

Daenerys waved it off, “Well I’m not alone, am I?” It wasn’t the response Arya was hoping for, but now wasn’t the time to argue semantics.

Nymeria padded through the doorway, walking straight up to the Dragon Queen. At this, Daenerys did truly soften, bending down to pet the wolf. “Why hello there. And how are you doing today Nymeria?” Licking at the monarch’s fingers, Nymeria heartily reciprocated the attention. “Now who would dare attempt anything untoward with a wolf at my side?” The Targaryen’s eyes twinkled up at the assassin.

“Nym isn’t always going to be with you,” Arya smirked as she hopped up on top of one of the barrels, making herself comfortable. She patted on the one next to her, encouraging Daenerys to take a seat as well. The platinum haired woman arched a brow at the gesture but followed suit, trying to keep her movements graceful.

“Who said I was speaking about Nymeria?” The Queen’s tone was anything but innocent, her gaze trailing from Arya’s face, to her shoulders, down her arms, “I’m sure there’s a wolf of a different nature that people would find equally intimidating.” Her violet eyes roved, more judicious than predatory.

Arya scratched a nail back and forth on the lip of the barrel underneath her, attempting to get back to the purpose of her being here, “Any particular reason you’ve taken over my hiding spot?”

“Oh it’s yours now is it?” There was a playful challenge to Daenerys’ words. “You’ve been in your bedchambers for so long I’d nearly forgotten.”

Arya glowered at her, but it was a weak imitation of one of her true glares. “I guess I could share it with you…” She started, ponderingly. “Sansa told me you might be upset, so odds are you need this spot more than me at the moment anyhow.” She studied the monarch after she said so, looking for any tells in her reaction.

The Targaryen’s posture stiffened just the slightest and her eyes turned wary. “Is that all she told you?”

“Should she have told me more?” The she-wolf returned with a curious look. She pulled one of her legs up and clasped her hands around her knee so that she could keep it resting atop the barrel. Daenerys had never seen the other woman look so comfortable, so at ease. It wasn’t difficult to picture a young, dirt-covered little girl with the very same gray eyes sitting just as casually. An unanticipated warmth bloomed in Daenerys’ chest at the thought.

“It was of little consequence,” She spoke dismissively. “I was reminded of the past is all.”

“Nothing ever simple about that, is there?” Arya already knew the answer to her own question. The smile on her lips was pained.

The Queen nodded with reluctant assent.

The quiet enveloped the two of them. Daenerys was lost in her thoughts as Arya studied her profile from her peripheral. The Stark wasn’t going to force more than the other woman was willing to give.

Nymeria took advantage of the lapse in conversation to draw Daenerys’ attention back to her. The wolf sat down in front of her, gently laying her head in the monarch’s lap. Her brown eyes peered up as she lightly nudged the woman’s hand with her snout. A soft, indulgent smile flitted across Daenerys’ lips as fingers glided through fur. She started at the tip of the wolf’s snout, gradually tracing her fingertips up to Nymeria’s forehead and just above her eyes. The animal’s eyelids grew heavy at the soothing ministrations. Arya watched on in subdued awe. To see this woman, a woman whispered about in taverns and throne rooms alike, be this human and this gentle, felt too raw and too vulnerable of a sight for an audience. This woman who was scorned for the blood of the Mad King that coursed through her veins, thought to possess the same cruelty and tenacity of a man long dead. Knowing what the assassin knew now, that that same blood flowed in her own kin, in Jon, she was well aware of the fallacy behind that logic.

Arya continued to watch Daenerys and Nymeria silently. This woman was Stormborn. She wouldn’t bring the storms, she would calm them. Arya was sure of it. She had watched this woman tame beast and man alike. From dragons to Dothraki.

Finally sensing steel-gray upon her, Daenerys looked up at her company. It was as if all the air was sucked out of the room as the Stark and Targaryen locked eyes. Arya’s features were hard, but not harsh. She appeared determined and focused, with Daenerys as her sole focal point. The Queen felt her heartbeat pick up pace in her chest. She wasn’t sure what changed, how the mood shifted so intensely and so suddenly, but she was helpless to it all the same.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?” The Targaryen’s words escaped from her lips unsteadily. She could feel the flush rising on her cheeks. Ridiculous, she thought. She wasn’t a naive girl anymore, blushing at the slightest attention from others. She was a queen.

Arya didn’t respond, instead descending down off the barrel. She stroked Nymeria’s neck before signaling with a tilt of her head for the wolf to give the monarch some space. With the spot at Daenerys’ feet no longer occupied, the Stark got down on one knee in front of her. Daenerys watched the scene unfold with bated breath, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

The she-wolf’s leather armor creaked as she adjusted her weight and unsheathed Needle from its rightful place at her hip. Laying it across her hands, Arya raised them and presented the razor-thin sword. She looked resolutely up at Daenerys as she finally spoke, “I am no knight nor do I take up banners with your soldiers, but I pledge my blade to you all the same Daenerys Targaryen, Breaker of Chains.” She swallowed audibly before continuing, “I will bear the weight of your burdens, I will shield you from harm, defend your title from those who seek to tarnish it, and I will fight for your cause.” The formality in her tone disappeared with her next words, “I was taught to have a purpose. Whether that be destroying those who have destroyed what once was mine, or it be stopping a threat who lives beyond death. For most of my life I’ve had a target to pursue. And for once, my ambitions align with something beyond myself. Beyond most of us,” The Stark looked around as if they were in a throne room full of people and not just a damp and dark cellar, “And you see that Daenerys. Let me help you succeed. Let me be your supporter.” Arya’s eyes shone with the kind of urgency similar to someone who expected rejection. The rest of her body was sturdy and present, unwavering in its confidence.

Violet eyes darted across the face staring up at her. “Arya-” Daenerys stopped herself. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she paused. Her hands unfurled themselves and carefully pushed down at the blade before her. The she-wolf took the hint and retreated the weapon to its sheath on her hip. Daenerys gingerly took ahold of Arya’s hands with her own, laying them in her lap. The Stark shot a bewildered look at her. Squeezing the hands in hers, Daenerys spoke quietly, “You are not my subject. You do not owe me a thing,” her gaze turned tender, “but you are my friend, Arya Stark of Winterfell. If you decide to be at my side, let it be because you choose to. Not because of honor or some sense of responsibility you believe you are indebted to me.” Her thumb had started to unconsciously trace over the she-wolf’s knuckles with her words.

The affection laced in her tone and written in the corners of her upturned lips made Arya suddenly feel in danger of tipping over, if not for the monarch’s hold on her hands. It had been years since she felt such a strong push and pull from someone like this. Since someone affected her so. Against her own expectations, the she-wolf found herself appreciating the physical contact, seeing and feeling The Dragon Queen be as gentle and attentive with the woman as she was the wolf. “It is my wish to, Your Grace.”

“What did I tell you about titles?” Daenerys’ lips were quick to downturn in a frown.

Arya shook her head with a smirk, “I’m trying to have some semblance of decorum to this. My sister would kill me if I didn’t.”

“And your siblings? What will they think of this?” Daenerys looked back and forth between them.

“They’re entitled to their opinions, but I do not expect much criticism. You’ve already made an impression on both Sansa and Jon. All that’s left is Bran.” Her tone was whimsical, but then her conviction reappeared, “But this is my decision, not theirs.”

“Yes, but-” Daenerys stopped speaking and looked on in alarm as Arya abruptly rose from the ground and pulled her hands away. She turned towards the door with her back to Daenerys, hand on the hilt of Needle. Nymeria stood at full height next to her owner, fur bristled along her spine as she studied the door with sharp eyes. “What’s going on-” The monarch halted when she heard the stomps and then the cellar’s door swung open with force.

Looking for all the world like a man on the cusp of a violent breakdown, Ser Jorah stormed in. Catching sight of his queen and the youngest Stark daughter, he deflated with relief momentarily before inflating with a boiling anger all over again. “How am I supposed to protect you Your Grace if I can’t find you? You can’t just disappear like that. Gods only know what kind of intentions the people of this keep harbor.” He cut his eyes at Arya at that.

Daenerys fought the immediate desire to roll her eyes, “I’ve already told you, these people are not the enemy. The Night King is.”

“And I respectfully advise you, My Queen, that it would be misguided of you to assume that the threat starts and ends with the undead.” The frustration in his voice belied any propriety in his words.

Arya was silently watching things unfold, aware that Daenerys could handle herself, but offering silent support as she stood a little closer to her.

“Well now that you’ve found me, what is it that you want from me Ser Jorah? Aside from questioning my degree of competence.” The Dragon Queen bit out the last statement, annoyed at being seen as naive.

His guilt appeared to have won out against his anger, “I apologize Your Grace. I just worry about you.” He gazed dejectedly at her. “It’s the imp, he has news about the meeting with his sister. Our presence has been requested in the council room.”

Daenerys looked no less irritated with the older man, even after his apology. Instead, she turned to Arya, “They’ll want you there too, are you going?”

“It would be wise that I do.” The Stark nodded. She leaned in close and whispered knowingly, “If I am to be a good liege to My Queen.”

Daenerys fought the reddening of her cheeks commendably, but the end result was not in her favor. Ser Jorah hadn’t heard the comment, but he saw enough of the exchange to give his ruler a perplexed look before shooting a suspicious glare at the she-wolf.

“We’d best not keep the rest waiting,” The Mormont spoke firmly. Once he was close enough, he pointedly placed himself between Arya and Daenerys, making his claim as her protector known as he escorted her out of the cellar. Daenerys peered over her shoulder, back at the Stark and her wolf. Instead of finding annoyance or displeasure on Arya’s features, she was the recipient of an all-too-amused smirk. As she turned forward again, Daenerys had to bite down on her lip to fight a smile of her own.


End file.
